Who is Alice Shaw?
by Aria2302
Summary: Call her the Wicked Witch of the Western Front, or the Cavalry, or the Angel of Azzano, but to her face it should always be 'Ma'am' or 'Lieutenant'. A fierce nurse of the 111th Field Hospital, Alice Shaw represents a secret that was never meant to survive historical record. She sticks to the fringes of film and avoids photographers, and there's a good reason why… (Bucky/OC)
1. Photographic Evidence

Alice heaved a sigh and glared. "There's no sense in fighting this, I'm going to win in the end." There was only silence in response, and she sighed again. "Really? Why can't you just behave? I won't beg." More silence. Alice leaned on the gate, swinging it open and closed repeatedly. "Fine! I'm begging! Happy now?"

Alice pulled the horse cookie from her pocket and held it in her open hand, coaxing the ornery horse to follow her into the barn. The beast of a horse nickered happily at the sight of the treat and nearly ran her over in its zeal to get the treat.

It was always a bit of a fight with this particular mare to get her in at night. Alice didn't like leaving the horses out in the Maryland nights – the weather was just too unpredictable South of Pennsylvania. It took two more cookies for the mare to go properly into the correct stall – she was no fool and knew exactly how many cookies she could extract from Alice at the end of a long day – which left Alice's duties _finally_ completed for the day.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that she ascended the steps to her little apartment over the barn. She had to shuffle her cat delicately out of the way with her foot to get the door open – Julian wasn't really _her_ cat; he was a barn tom on the best of days, and a freeloader on his worst, but she fed him every night and he seemed to tolerate her presence.

"Scooch, honey," she coaxed the heavy wood door open. "I can't feed us if you trip me."

Julian clearly didn't care. He raced around her ankles as she shucked her muck boots on the welcome mat, yowling his head off as he _demanded_ to be fed _right this minute or else he would starve to death_ in the way that only the best cats can.

Alice complied with all of the patience of a saint, managing to avoid Julian's swipes at her socked toes. "There you go, you ruffian – now leave me be."

Alice opened the one window in her little apartment to let in some of the early evening breezes. The air around the barn rumbled with far-off thunder, and Alice thanked her lucky stars that she had brought the horses inside. Nothing was worse than wrangling horses in the rain.

Opening her tiny mini-fridge was always a bit of a let-down; no faeries had come in the middle of the night and blessed her with a wealth of free groceries. She grabbed a wedge of cheese and a knife from her cutlery drawer, resolving to start eating better (tomorrow).

Alice was settling down to read a good book with her pure-dairy-dinner when she heard the first horse whinny. It was followed swiftly by two more. "What the devil…?" The sound of alarm grew terror-filled, and Alice ran for her door, pulling on her boots as swiftly as one who has seen a barn fire might.

But as she grabbed the doorknob the cries stopped – abruptly – and Alice hesitated. What the hell could _that_ mean? As she paused, hand on the door, the thick wood rattled with a strong _knock knock knock._

Alice undid the feeble bolt on her door and opened it with some trepidation.

A grizzled man stood in her doorway – no, he _filled_ the frame. One human eye fixed on her face, and the other blazed with the bright light of a machine. It wasn't the only mechanized part of him, either. Alice gulped, taking a half-step backward. She had seen some strange things at school, but-

"Are you Alice Sigynsdottir?" the man asked gruffly.

"Can I help you?" Her hand drifted towards the aluminum bat resting next to the door.

He seemed to know she was reaching for a weapon, and his eyes narrowed. "Professor Xavier sent me."

She let her hand fall back to her side. "Is something wrong?"

"Can I come in, or do I need to explain the fate of the planet on your doorstep?" His tone fell somewhere between bemused and annoyed.

She flushed a deep scarlet. "Please come in." The large man entered her small apartment, and she realized almost instantly that he was far too large. Or she was just a small person. "It's not much, but please have a seat and I'll make you something to drink. Tea?" The man nodded.

Alice busied herself filling the kettle and setting it on her little electric cooktop. The apartment, being over the barn, couldn't have any open flames, so she had to make do with the plug-in apparatus. It did the job okay, but it took forever to boil water.

"You don't look anything like the picture Xavier showed me," The man broke the silence.

Alice nodded. "I dyed my hair black when I was at the school, though I'm sure you know why, as Xavier sent you, Mister...?" She let the question hang.

"Cable." He made an affirmative noise. "It's the only thing a healing factor can't change."

Alice's head bobbed in a beleaguered nod. "Mine isn't very strong, maybe four or five times normal human speed, but it's enough to show up positive on X-gene tests." She glanced at him and found his robotic eye unnerving enough that she had to look away. "So what's this about the fate of the planet that Xavier thinks I can help with, Mr. Cable?"

Cable didn't seem perturbed by her avoidance and continued to speak even as she fished around in a cabinet for mugs. "I need your help to stop the assassination of Captain America in 1943."

Alice stopped mid-reach for a mug. "I'm going to need you to run that by me one more time."

* * *

Arnold had always considered himself to be a detail-oriented man, and the Smithsonian Institution had seemed to agree. It was because of his attention to detail that he had been assigned as lead curator for the Captain America Exhibit, opening soon – so soon, so soon – and he was doing his last review of the materials before everything went to print.

It was important – many veterans enjoyed wandering through the old war exhibits, and if even _one_ name was wrong he would never hear the end of it – a placard had to be _beyond_ vetted in order to be perfect.

It was for this reason that Arnold found himself poring over a huge stack of photographs, matching faces to names. Everything had been gone over at least two dozen times, but one more look never hurt and -

The curator blinked at the photo – _how did I never notice that before?_ It was a photo of the nurses assigned to the 107th, sharing breakfast on a fallen log early in their Western Front deployment. They seemed happy, sharing an inside joke.

Somehow, someone had missed the trace of a figure in corner of the photograph; there was the shoulder of another nurse; as if someone had gotten up from the group and just missed being included in the photo.

Arnold pulled out his magnifying glass, inspecting the figure for any trace of identification. The nurses' uniforms had the bad tendency to be under-decorated, and thus difficult to identify, and this woman was no exception. He gave the edge one more pass, and – _ah hah!_

Beneath her typical caduceus lapel pin, she had affixed another circular pin – smaller than a dime and far too small to make out details on her blurry shape. Odd; Arnold couldn't remember seeing it in any of the other photos. Arnold sighed deeply – now he would just have to go through the stack of photos _all over again_.

* * *

A/N: Hello, dear readers! This Intro chapter is more of a placeholder than anything else, and a vague introduction to our dear Alice. This story is not well fleshed out yet, with only about 3-4k words written. I have _so much_ research to do, as I plan to base a lot of this story on the _real-life_ history of the 107th in establishing Alice's place in the war.

EXPECT A SLOW SLOW SLOW BURN.


	2. Selling the Story

The angry whistle of the kettle interrupted Alice's long, hard stare at the time-traveler sitting across from her. _Time travel_ , what a concept. She resisted the urge to scream, gibber senselessly, and leap out the window all at once. She was quite proud of that.

Cable was still talking, going on with an explanation that had started a few minutes ago when she had still been able to wrap her head around it. "No Captain America, no Winter Soldier. No Winter Soldier, no assassination of Howard and Maria Stark. No tragic Stark death, no Iron Man – the list goes on and on. Captain America must survive the War."

"I thought he was just some character the government invented for propaganda posters…" Alice muttered, hands clasped tightly around a mug of rapidly cooling tea. "I never thought…"

Cable checked a gadget affixed to his metal arm, and made a grunting noise. "He comes out of the ice this year – a few months from now."

Alice had the misfortune of having taken a sip of tea at that exact moment, which she promptly nearly accidentally inhaled. " _Why is he in ice?!"_

Cable stared at her with a long, bored look. "If you don't agree to help me I really shouldn't tell you – that being the _future_ and all."

Alice's voice shook. "Am I the only one? I mean – why me? Why am I special?"

"What? No – you're not special. There are hundreds of others that could be sent back."

"Oh," she hesitated. "So why are you asking me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, but a twitch in his jaw betrayed the seriousness of his situation. "The first twelve I asked said no. After you, there's a boy in New Jersey I'll ask."

Alice was a bit taken aback by that. "Ok but what makes me… a candidate, I guess?"

Cable listed a few reasons, each punctuated by a metallic _tap_ of his fingers on her tiny table. "You're second-generation Icelandic – your family emigrated after World War II, and was not in any way involved, so there's no chance of you fucking up your own presence in the future by preventing your parents from meeting or some crap like that. And the most favorable point in your favor is your healing factor." He glanced to one side, thinking. "No tattoos. All your original body parts. No modern surgical parts added or removed. "

"Why did the others before me say no?" That was the _real_ question.

"They have families." His bionic eye bored into her. "You have none, self-isolated out here."

"I'm a _farm hand_."

He snorted. "And a gardener– what's your point?"

Alice felt her argument seemed feeble under his scrutiny. "This is… World War Two."

"You had more than enough training at Xavier's babysitting camp. I'm not sending you back to fight the whole damn war, Sigynsdottir." He scowled. "That last name's gotta go."

"What-no!" Alice cried.

Cable ignored her protestations. "It makes you stand out – you can't stand out. Smith. Stewart. Sanders. Shaw?"

"It's my family history!" Alice yelled.

Cable nodded decisively. "Alice Shaw."

She heaved a sigh and slouched over, laying her forehead on the table. "… I hate you already."

"In all seriousness, I need a decision."

"Right now?" Alice's head shot up, her expression a mixture of disbelief and horror.

" _Right now_ ," Cable confirmed. "If you don't agree I need to move on to the next candidate. Time is ticking – even in the past – and I've got a world-ending cataclysm to prevent here."

Alice chewed on her fingernail, furrows trenching deep lines into her forehead. "Okay," she finally breathed. "I'll do it." She laughed, in spite of herself. "Lucky number thirteen."

* * *

Arnold was about ready to tear out what remained of his wispy white hair. Hours spent with a magnifying glass inspecting the tiny lapels of nurses had seemed less than fruitful. The button had appeared in a few more photos, but the nurse seemed to have a remarkable talent for avoiding the camera. If he didn't know better, Arnold might have started to think she was deliberately avoiding being photographed.

Three hundred and sixty-two photos later, Arnold spotted a tiny circular pin. He whipped the magnifying glass back to examine the larger picture. "There you are, my dear…" A heart-shaped face with deep brown eyes stared at the camera, mouth open slightly in surprise. Her hair was tucked up into the standard cap, but a few light-colored strands escaping identified her as a light blonde.

He flipped the photo over, examining the writing on the back. Photos were precious in the war, and it was generally understood that the photographer did his damn _best_ to write down names. Arnold had become intimately familiar with the major Field and Fixed Hospitals that treated the Howling Commandos, Doctor and nurse alike. He knew every name by heart, and could identify them in photos with ease. He had traced them through history, through grief, through survival.

 _United States Army Nurse, 107_ _th_ _, Alice Shaw._

Arnold blinked.

 _Who?_

* * *

A/N: I can't believe how much content I've managed to crank out in little bits and pieces of a storyline for this thing. Seriously, I did some research into how long the 107th/Howling Commandoes were in Europe… TWO YEARS. That's a lot of space to fill. And a loooooooot of research to do. I promise there will be more explanations about the who and why and how; I'm laying it out a bit at a time.

Wish me luck!

Thanks to my (2) reviewers: Sanguinary Tide and Gilyflower!

EDIT: made minor adjustments to Arnold's section after doing some research into Nurses in WW2. Changed the text of final paragraph.


	3. Preparation

Alice sighed deeply as she stared at the world's longest shopping list. "Cable…" she sighed his name like a chore. "I don't even know where to _begin_ to find some of these things. And how much reading do you really expect me to be able to do in just – how long do I have again?"

"Two weeks. And that's pushing it." Cable didn't look up from the table. He had commandeered her small table as a weapons cleaning station and was at that moment disassembling a gun that only vaguely resembled a modern rifle.

"Oh, two weeks, okay. So – just to be clear, in two weeks I need to:" Alice listed them off on her fingers, starting over again when she ran out of fingers, "create two Army Nurse uniforms – complete with correct pins and buttons and _undergarments_ made from accurate materials – from scratch, make or somehow magically find a perfect replica of a deployment bag, find era-appropriate boots, study era-appropriate slang and terminology, _learn field medicine-"_

"You've already got years of nursing training at Xavier's-" Cable added nonchalantly.

"Don't interrupt!" Alice snapped. "Now – where was I – oh yeah: _learn field medicine._ "

Cable rolled his eyes.

Alice ignored him.

"Memorize two to three _years_ ' worth of significant names and dates and locations to ensure I'm actually _present_ for this assassination attempt, which brings me to another relevant item – brush up on my shooting skills with an era-appropriate weapon which I _also_ need to make magically appear because they are crazily expensive…" Alice hung her head. "All while trying to do my _actual job_ to keep paying my bills."

"Is _that_ the problem?" Cable scoffed, and pulled something that looked almost-not-quite-like a cell phone out of his pocket, except for the big difference that iPhones don't project a holographic image above the screen when held horizontally. "Get a pen and paper."

"…why?" Alice asked, while grabbing her phone message pad from the counter.

"Write these numbers down." He waited for her to wave her pen showing she was prepared. "14, 30, 33, 44, 56, 13."

Alice dutifully scribbled the numbers down. "Okay got it – what are they for?"

"Tomorrow's winning lottery numbers. Stop whining about money." Cable returned to cleaning his whatever-it-was while Alice began to make distinctly unladylike faces and noises.

"Wait-what-nonononono – _Cable_ \- you can't just-what about the _real_ winners?" She clutched the paper pad to her chest like it was worth its weight in gold. In reality, it was worth much, _much_ more.

Cable kept his eye – his real eye – on the barrel of his weapon as he stuck what looked like a steel pipe cleaner down its length. "They'll still win – just half as much. They lose it all in two years anyway. Doesn't make a significant difference."

"But – you can't just _give_ me this – I mean…" Alice was floundering, and Cable pointedly ignored it.

"Keep stalling and you won't get a ticket that redeems tonight. Then we have to go through this all over again tomorrow and that's way too big of a headache."

Alice stopped arguing pretty quickly after that and rushed to the nearest store to buy her future.

* * *

Alice refused to compromise on a few points – which drove Cable absolutely crazy – mostly about still taking care of the horses she lived above. Not only was it still technically her job – _just buy the damn farm and hire someone else_ , Cable had growled – but more importantly Alice cared for the animals. Almost all of them were being boarded by other owners, but one particularly large mare – you know which one – was a rescue and refused to cooperate for anyone but Alice. The mare _trusted_ Alice, and that was a trust she wouldn't surrender so lightly.

And so it was that Alice would corral the horses, clean the stables, and scrub water troughs while muttering "Bedpan commando, behavior report, bog-pocket, prang, sugar report...". Alice would toss hay-bales, check the field for ankle-breaking stones, and reorganize the tack room while Cable quizzed her from a textbook. He might bark "Frostbite," and Alice would answer "Identified by red, white, or bluish skin, clumsiness, blistering after rewarming, and hard or waxy-looking skin." Cable would additionally bark "Treatment," to which Alice would provide "Skin rewarming, anti-inflammatory medications, warm fluids, debridement if necessary."

"There are no anti-inflammatory medications in 1943," Cable corrected with a small smirk. He would regularly inform her if she mentioned a treatment not available during the War, and Alice would grumble something obscene under her breath. " _Fine –_ feverfew, then."

Alice had a habit – an _annoying_ habit, if you asked Cable – of offering plant substitutions when confronted with a brick wall made of history. She had been gardening since she was a young child, and had found a personal fascination with the plethora of medicinal uses for what most people called _weeds_.

And so the days went – very quickly – leaving little time for idle conversation outside of studying, sewing, and repetition, repetition, repetition.

Two days before her departure, Alice glanced up at the mercenary across the table, removing her gaze briefly from the medical textbook. "Cable?" she asked, resting her head on her palm. He grunted, indicating he heard her. "Why not just go back yourself? Why all of this cloak and dagger?"

He raised an eyebrow – which was about as close to emotional expression as Alice had come to expect from the soldier. "You really think I'd blend in well in 1943?"

She gave him a once-over. "Fair point. But why not any of the other X-Men? Colossus?"

"Russian."

"Logan?"

"Otherwise occupied at the time."

"Kitty?"

"Irresponsible. And too much family history in the war."

"Scott? Kurt? Rogue?"

" _History._ "

Alice fell silent, running through the long list of Xavier's "gifted youngsters" in her head. It was true – most of the school could cause serious damage to their families' histories if they interacted with the wrong people.

"You didn't ask about Jean," Cable commented, a little too casually.

It was Alice's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm sure Professor Xavier mentioned our… history."

"In an excessively diplomatic and politically-correct fashion."

"So… no." Alice snorted. "The institute isn't the best place to get a clear answer to anything. Yeah - excuse the _hell_ out of me that 'entitled and snobby' isn't exactly my type, but she had to go _lose her damn mind_ over the _idea_ that I was interested in a boy or girl that _wasn't_ her – she's as straight as steel but is _offended_ that the Bi girl doesn't like her!" Alice took a deep, steadying breath. "But whatever."

Cable raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You left because you weren't attracted to her?"

She shrugged. "In so many words."

"That's an idiotic reason to leave."

Alice glared, but it had no effect on the soldier. "You try staying when a respected community member starts talking shit about you to anyone with ears." Alice picked up her book to resume reading. "When they start to listen, it's not worth it anymore."

* * *

A/N: If you're one of the (very few) people who are already following this story, you may have noticed that it went from a dedicated Steve/OC pairing to TBD/OC – this is because I am a fickle person, and ALSO because while brainstorming some plot points I started to wonder if a Bucky/OC might be better? I know, I'm the worst. I'm hoping to let friendships develop naturally, and see what happens from there.

Alice – as she is in this moment – cares a little too much about what people think of her, combined with a need to avoid conflict. She's gonna need to grow out of that reeeeeeally fast. Mostly I just like establishing character *shrug*

Thanks to my reviewer: Sanguinary Tide!


	4. Four to Go

Alice squinted down at her stitching as she pulled taut the heavy wool jacket. "I think I fucked up some of the stitching."

Cable was fiddling with something small and metallic across the table and didn't look up at her. "Some irregularity is good – flawless is too noticeable."

She laid down the coat among the hundred other objects on the floor – some perfect replicas, some vintage from eBay – and checked off the final box on her massive checklist. "I think that's everything."

"One more thing," Cable handed Alice the object he had been tinkering with: a small circular lapel pin.

"Thanks?" Alice said hesitantly. "What is it?"

Cable reached over and demonstrated flipping the cover off to reveal a tiny orange button. "When the mission's done, hit the button. If it works, I'll be able to extract you back to the correct time."

" _If_ it works?" Alice squinted skeptically.

Cable shrugged. "Time travel isn't predictable."

She was flabbergasted, holding the button a little further from her body as if it were entirely to blame for her predicament. "Isn't that the whole damn point of this?" Alice waved her arms around for emphasis.

Perpetually unflappable, Cable flipped the tiny lid shut as he further explained; "Think of it like running on ice – short hops don't do much, but when you work up a good head of steam it takes a while to slide to a stop. But I'll drop you at the right time; don't you worry your pretty little head."

"So you're going to kick me out of the van as you're speeding down the highway? And pick me up in the same way?" Alice examined the tiny time travel pin. The lid was almost invisible unless placed under intense scrutiny. "Why do I feel like you excessively simplified that for my benefit?"

Cable snorted. "Because I did."

Alice stuck her tongue out in defiance. Cable did not comment.

"Run it by me again," he ordered.

"I'm Second Lieutenant Alice Shaw, Army Nurse Corps, assigned to the 111th Field Hospital."

"Why not a Fixed Hospital?" he shot instantly.

Alice was ready. "I showed, and I quote, 'substantial resilience under pressure' in training."

"Got your papers?" Cable asked, and Alice pulled them from her breast pocket. The wool of her jacket still scraped uncomfortably against her knuckles with the motion. Cable glanced at them only briefly before turning his attention to the spread of her equipment on the floor. "You're bringing a lot of crap with you."

"Not a lot of crap available once I get to the 111th," Alice retorted, pushing past him to start packing.

"Don't you know you have to carry all of that around?" Cable smirked, crossing his arms to clearly demonstrate he had no intention of helping her.

"Gee – I hadn't thought of that. I figured I might just pop down to the nearest CVS once I got there and pick up a few bottles of rubbing alcohol and a bag of chips." Alice's tone was saltier than the sea. "I've done my research, Cable. This will be Hell on Earth."

Cable grunted. "Good."

Alice paused in her pursuit of clipping down the flap of her bag. "Good what?"

"Good that you know." He turned on his heel, headed for the narrow door of her apartment and, ultimately, the hammock he had slung up in the barn below. "Get some sleep; big day tomorrow."

* * *

Alice sat up in bed, book open and propped up on her thighs, Julian deep asleep pressed against her side. Every so often he would make a little 'mrrr' sound, shift, and stretch his paws out. It was adorable. Alice's heart constricted painfully at the thought of leaving her fluffy companion alone for so long, but Cable had reminded her on more than one occasion that – in reality – she would only be gone from present day for a few hours at most. _I'll be home in time for dinner_ , she had joked. _But what if it doesn't work?_

 _Leave the window open – he's a barn cat; he'll figure it out._ Great at providing reassurance, Cable was not.

Alice shook her head, focusing on the book in her lap and adding a side note to her little field journal. Any information she wanted to bring with her needed to be scribbled in that book, and Cable expressly forbid any names, dates, or places of relevance.

Alice had no intention of writing down names or dates – she had those memorized easily. She used the space in her little leather-bound journal for information on the wild plants of Europe. She was going to need all the help she could get, and Google was definitely out of the question in 1943.

 _Pick feverfew leaves when small – approximately 4 cm in length. Dry in the shade and turn regularly for a few days to ensure fully dried._ Julian stretched languidly at her side, standing with a bit of a wobble. He gave her leg a little _bonk_ with his head and jumped off the bed. "Bye, buddy," Alice said absently.

 _Keep leaves whole until ready for use to ensure proper dosage. The feverfew leaves are sleepy, just like you, Alice…_ The words on the pages started to blur and dance in front of her as the night grew longer. Her head lolled on her neck and she sank lower into bed. "Just gotta…" she murmured, "gotta make sure…"

And she was asleep at last.

* * *

Alice was woken sharply by a loud _bang_ from the kitchen – metal striking metal. Alice shot up in bed, both her notebook and Julian – with a startled yowl – flying off of her lap.

The source of the noise – Cable – glanced in her direction. "Oh good; you're up."

"Are you making breakfast?" Alice asked, brushing some hair out of her face.

"You don't want to eat before the Slide – trust me." Cable tossed the pan in his hand into the sink with another _bang_.

"Then what are you doing banging pans around?" Alice grumbled, swinging her legs out of bed.

"Banging pans around to wake you up," Cable replied. "Suit up, Shaw."

"Can't I get cleaned up first?" Alice whined.

"Better if you don't." He pressed a stack of rough-cloth clothes into her arms. "People didn't bathe every day in 1943."

"I know that," Alice snapped back as she stood. "Did you stop to think that maybe that's why I wanted one last really nice shower?" She was definitely going to miss her long, luxurious showers with scented soaps and her skincare routine.

"Don't care. Besides," Cable smirked, "you can take a shower tonight."

"Oh ha ha, you're so clever with words." Alice rolled her eyes. She disappeared into the bathroom to change, switching out her comfortable acrylic and polyester pajamas for foreign underthings and rough dyed cotton and wool. A little bit of powder on her face and bright red lipstick followed, and finally a tight braid on her hair that she could pin up under her cap.

A war-era stranger – odd to see in color, not black and white – stared back from the mirror. Her deep brown eyes were wide with apprehension, and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, smearing the red lipstick a little. Alice rubbed the lipstick from her teeth and took a deep breath. _Here we go._

Alice spun a little as she exited the bathroom, presenting herself for Cable's inspection. He nodded, satisfied, and clapped her firmly on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, kid."

Her chest constricted and made her eyes water. "Stop it; we both know you don't have real human feelings."

Cable lifted the rucksack from the floor, pressing it into her arms. "Good luck, Alice Shaw."

Alice shouldered the bag and shrugged a few times, checking the straps of her bag. "I think I'm ready."

Cable held out his arm. "Hold on tight."

* * *

Arnold's eyes were starting to cross. Several more hours of fruitless searching was leaving him frustrated and dejected. The mystery of Alice Shaw was haunting him at all hours, and he often worked straight through lunch and past the end of the day hunting for the little blonde woman. He thought he might have seen more evidence of her lingering in the background of photographs, but he couldn't be certain it was _her,_ and not another nurse.

 _Obviously out of place, but why?_ Arnold's thoughts were consumed by her absence, presence, and the gaps between. " _Arnold_!" His head snapped up – neck twisting painfully, at the stern cry from the doorway. Madeline, his erstwhile assistant, stood with her arms crossed in front of his desk.

"Haven't you finished the review yet? The exhibit opens next week!" She gave him a most disapproving stare.

Arnold held out the photo of Alice to his young assistant. "I found a mystery – do you recognize her?"

Madeline pushed her glasses up her nose and squinted at the photo. She flipped it over, examining the scribbles on the back. "Alice Shaw? I don't think so. Is she A.N.C., W.A.A.C., or A.R.C.?"

Arnold wrinkled his nose. "A.N.C.; I'm fairly certain. What I can't wrap my head around is why she's described as being with the 107th and not her assigned Field Hospital." Arnold tapped the writing on the back, staring up at Madeline's face for confirmation.

Madeline sighed deeply as she handed the photo back. "Just pull anything she's in – we'll figure it out between the opening and the six-month refresh."

"Are you sure?" Arnold was torn. "That would mean pulling the nurses' section. You don't think we should investigate-"

" _Next. Week._ " Madeline emphasized. "No one will notice one little nurse missing – it's fine." She turned on her heel and walked out of Arnold's small office.

Arnold clutched the photo as she left, glancing down at the surprised face of the mystery nurse. He opened a drawer in his desk but hesitated before filing it away. He leaned back in his desk chair and held the photo up to the light. The nurse stared back at him, her expression locked in time.

She was haunting him somehow; a face locked in time, out of place with what he had come to understand as the typical ways of paperwork, assignments, and order.

Instead of filing the photo away, Arnold pulled a plastic photo protector from the drawer and slipped the photo inside. He tacked the plastic up on a little cork board behind his desk. He found the original photo, with her half out of frame, and did the same. Arnold drew two index cards close to him on the desk, writing 'Alice Shaw' on one, and '107th Infantry' on the second. These, too, were tacked on his cork board.

Arnold let his desk chair sink into its fullest recline as he leaned back. He rubbed his jaw with a hand idly, and considered where to begin.

* * *

A/N: Hello, readers! I've been focusing a little more on WIAS because Alice – brash and bold and full of fire – has been throwing herself at the front of my mind. I apologize if you're also reading Weaver's Hands as June has stepped respectfully to the side for a little while.

The 111th F.H. is fictitious (even if there is a real one in history, this is a fictional one), as I wanted Alice to be as close as possible to the 107th Infantry. Field Hospitals were typically only about 30 miles from the front line itself. I'll be going into very thorough descriptions of the FH in coming chapters, so no worries about that.

Do you want some DAMN EXCITING reading? Go do some research on the Army Nurse Corps and Field Hospitals – these women are BADASS!

LAST BIT – I edited the end of the second chapter for historical accuracy. See note at the bottom of Ch.2: Selling the Story for details.

Many thanks to my lone reviewer: Sanguinary Tide!

Thoughts? Questions? Shoot 'em my way in the form of a glooooorious REVIEW!


	5. Bound and Bloodied

**June 10, 1943**

"Alice… Alice… it's time to get up, honey." A gentle voice and a soft shake of her shoulder roused Alice from the dead sleep that had claimed her.

"I'm up," she groaned.

"Uh huh – you said that yesterday and went straight back to sleep. Up!"

"Gloria, someday I'm going to be up before you and I will make you regret all the mornings you woke me," Alice vowed.

The other nurse laughed lightly. "That's nice, Alice. Could you do that thing with my hair again today? It's just so convenient."

Alice sighed, sitting up in her cot and swinging her legs over the side. "Yeah, sure – come sit down." Alice ran her fingers through Gloria's thick dark curls to comb out the night's tangles, yawning loudly. "Have you been out to the Ward yet this morning?"

Gloria made a 'hmm' sound in the negative. "Not yet, but Jojo told me we got a few more admissions to Shock in the night, and Highsmith and Rooker went to the 64th Hospital on a transport."

Alice nodded absently. "Good – they'll be much more comfortable there. Pins?" Alice accepted the pins Gloria held over her shoulder, fixing the twisted braid into place firmly. "All done," she announced.

Gloria patted the braid flat against her head and pinned her cap in place. "Thanks, honey! See you at breakfast!" She pulled on her boots as she walked out of the tent, making a hollow sound as she walked across the board directly in front of their tent that acted as a little bridge over an abandoned trench.

Alice needn't have worried about never seeing trenches. The Field Hospital was _surrounded_ by trenches, many running between the feet of doctors, nurses, and soldiers alike. The 111th Field Hospital was built on top what used to be the German side of the Front running through Italy. Jeeps made a treacherous drive to approach the admissions tent, often finding it safer to carry men in on stretchers than to drive through the slippery paths marked with painted stakes as 'safe'.

Alice braided her hair as she looked through the open tent flap, surveying what had once been a fresh and pristine environment. The tent hospital seemed to be sinking into the mud from the splatters that came off of the jeeps. The grass was slowly being trodden down into the mud and no amount of sunshine could keep it vibrant.

This presented a real challenge for the medical staff – hygiene was already a struggle without having to set up camp on land that had essentially been blown to smithereens. But that was the cost of getting as close to the soldiers that needed their care as possible.

Alice pinned her cap into place and yanked on her boots. She jumped from one bank of the trench to the other, not trusting the board to support her weight. Nothing seemed to quite work as intended 100% of the time, and Alice wasn't taking chances. The whole war effort, if she was being honest with herself, seemed very haphazard.

With such poor organization it had been no great struggle for Alice to join the crowd disembarking in London after Cable had her do a tuck-and-roll out of the Slide of Time into a broom closet aboard a Navy transport. Cable had coached her on how to find the most stressed soldier in charge of receiving the crowd and approach that person with her troublesome paperwork. She would not be on the duty roster, of course. She had to pretend to be confused, wave her paperwork around a little, and be ready for a little pushback.

 _The Army Nurse Corps grew from 1,000 to 59,000 during the War,_ Cable had chuckled darkly, _they won't know what to do with all of you yet, and will more than likely just send you on to your supposed assignment without question._

And that had been completely accurate. Alice had been told to sit among the growing throng of women in nurse caps with lumpy duffels. The delighted giggles and amiable chatter grew as the number of admiring male eyes passed over the group, most men relatively oblivious to the fact that nearly every nurse present outranked the admiring passers-by.

Alice had met her two current friends, Gloria and Joanna, as the throng had been split by assignment. The fourth nurse for their assignment, a timid woman named Ingrid, chimed in so infrequently it was easy to forget her presence as they traveled by train and truck across Europe.

The large throngs of women grew smaller and smaller as they got further and further from London, and groups split away from the main Mobilization units to head to their assignments. Soon enough, Alice, Gloria, Joanna, and Ingrid boarded a truck caravan headed for the 111th and the solemnity of their station hit home.

It hit Alice again as she strode through the Ward on her way to catch a quick breakfast. As she checked IV bottles and felt foreheads, a murmur of appreciation always followed. The nurses – overworked, understaffed, always appreciated – were never treated with anything less than gratitude by the soldiers.

"Shaw!" The surgeons, however… The staff of the 111th consisted of four medical officers, three general surgeons, and twenty-five enlisted men, most of whom were either surgical or medical technicians. Most of them loved the four nurses who kept the 400-bed tent inhabitants alive until they could either be evacuated or seen by a doctor.

But there was one particular surgeon who had it out for Alice. She " _Shaw!_ " the call came again.

Alice. plastered a smile on her face as she turned. "Good morning, Doctor Fletcher – how are you?"

He waved a dressing in the air, face flush with anger. "What the hell is this?" he roared, shoving it in her face.

Alice didn't blink – this was a regular occurrence at that point. "It would appear to be a post-surgical dressing, Doctor Fletcher." Her tone was saccharine-sweet and innocent.

"Don't get smart with me, Shaw – what happened to the dressing I applied two days ago?" He shook the dressing again, and it brushed against Alice's face.

She refused to budge. "That dressing was soaked through with blood, Doctor Fletcher. I elected to change the bandage instead of allowing it to fester." She let her gaze fall slowly from the tomato-red face of the surgeon to the barely-spotted bandage. "I trust you found my application satisfactory, as the patient no longer appears to be bleeding profusely. I can only hope you replaced the bandage instead of leaving poor Private Peterson without a protective dressing. "

Dr. Fletcher spluttered for lack of an intelligent response, and threw the dressing down at her feet. He pointed at her with an accusing finger, yelling "stay away from my dressings!" before storming off.

Alice looked down at the dressing, crumpled into a mess of cloth and tape in the mud.

"Wow – he sure likes you," murmured a soldier on her left.

Alice shot him a wry smile. "And I sure like that your I.V. bottle is almost empty – I'll be back with a new one soon, hun." She left him with a flirty wink and he laughed.

Alice had tried arguing with Fletcher and those like him only at the very beginning of her time at the 111th, but had soon found it to be a vast waste of energy. Instead, she found satisfaction in simply keeping smiles on her patients' faces and hearts beating in their chests. There was more than enough trauma going around.

Alice slid onto a bench beside Gloria under the loose flaps of the Mess tent, taking a deep inhale of her hot breakfast that became a sigh. "You would think the cook would get tired of making oatmeal. Would it kill him to add some fruit?"

Joanna, seated across from Gloria and Alice, groaned deeply. "Oh not again – can I have a _single breakfast_ in peace without hearing about how we're all going to die from lack of fruit? That's all I ask."

"You're headed to bed, I can whine all I want," Alice shot back.

Gloria shook her head at their banter, smiling to herself. "As long as they don't stop sending sugar and salt from London I couldn't care less what the food is."

Alice nodded. "Sure, but what if they stop sending _coffee_?"

Gloria froze, her tin cup halfway to her lips. "Don't even joke about that."

Alice shrugged, grinning, taking a sip of her own bitter coffee. The nurses joked about the lack of supplies, but it was a problem for the 111th long before they had arrived. Supplies were running short all throughout Western Europe and they were starting to feel the crunch. Sergeant Thompson, a soldier in charge of triage, admissions, and reception of supplies would greet the pensive nurses with a grim look as the trucks rolled away. It was a silent signal to stretch what little they had just a little further.

"I'm taking some coffee to Thompson," Gloria declared, standing from their little table.

"You remember he's married, right?" Alice asked slyly. Gloria shot her a dark look and Joanna giggled.

"I hope you get stuck assisting _Fletcher_ all day," Gloria hissed like a curse.

" _You take that back!_ " Alice yelled after her as the dark-haired nurse cackled.

Ingrid sat down next to Joanna, her light blue eyes somehow more pale after a long night shift. "Is Gloria picking on Alice again?" she asked softly.

Joanna rolled her eyes, poking at her oatmeal with a spoon. "You have to ask?"

* * *

A/N: Hello, my dear readers! I hope you are enjoying my attempt at a historically-accurate CA fic. Not a lot to say for this note, other than that I'm really enjoying having Alice around. I love my girls – Joanna, Gloria, Ingrid – as well. Love me some good, healthy female friendships.

Anywho, thank you to my reviewers: TikiKiki and Sanguinary Tide!

Please say hello in a review!


	6. When the Rain Came

**June 22, 1943**

It was absurdly gloomy at the 111th. The rain never seemed to cease, threatening to carry the hospital away with a downpour that only made the mud problems all the worse. Everyone lived in shades of brown, and it was a constant battle to keep the interior of the tents both clean and dry.

The occasional sunny day was a frenzy of washing, though the batches had to be done as fast as possible. Any bowl-like object was utilized as a wash bin when the sun was shining, including helmets of patients. Clotheslines would stretch to and fro in dangerous numbers, threatening to choke the inattentive wanderer.

But the sun had gone as quickly as it came, and Alice found herself trotting through the rain, avoiding puddles and muddy abandoned trenches, to bring warm reprieve to a friend. She covered the cup with her hand to keep the heavy, cold raindrops from ruining the drink, and it made for a funny-looking jog.

Alice shook her head from side to side as she entered the Receiving Tent from the rear, and shuddered. She was too damn cold for June.

"Hiya, Miss Shaw – what can I do you for?" Sergeant Thompson greeted her with his usual peculiarly cheery grin. It was infectious, and even though Alice was too damn to be truly cheery, she responded with her usual crooked grin.

"Coffee?" Alice offered Thompson a tin cup of steaming bliss, which he accepted gratefully.

He leaned back against the canvas back of his little chair, face thoughtful. "Think it'll ever stop raining?"

Alice leaned against one of the main support posts, her attention following his out into the field across the road. "It has to stop sometime."

She shifted her footing and Thompson sit up straight, his attention drawn to her feet. "Watch your step – I like those flowers. It's the only color I get to see nowadays."

Alice looked down between her feet, her mouth rounding into a little 'o'. She crouched and touched the delicate leaves tenderly. _Fennel_ , her memory supplied. _Aids in digestion, stimulates appetite, and acts as a mild expectorant_. It was also a faint, pretty yellow color. "It's nice," Alice complimented.

"Thanks," Thompson sounded proud. "I've managed to keep it alive a whole week since it bloomed." He looked back out into the rain. "The field across the way used to have some nice colors in it, but this rain is drowning them, I think."

The rain. The rain made it impossible to forget misery. The rain made it impossible to be comfortable. The rain, washing away the roads and filling the trenches into rivers and sending once-strong walls crumbling into suffocating mud filled every part of their lives until there was no room for joy. Only sorrow. Only rain.

Alice could relate. But Thompson's smile was hopeful, and she couldn't find it in her heart to acknowledge the sorrow in the air. "Maybe when the rain stops they'll bloom again; you never know," she offered. Thompson agreed with a hum and a grateful sip of the warm coffee. Alice would find herself wondering far, far into the future what secret joy allowed him to keep his smile.

But his secret would stay just that for the moment. A frantic horn became audible in the distance, drawing their attention from the shared moment. Alice pushed off from the post as a truck roared around the turn in the road, narrowly missing the growing swamp created by the abandoned trenches.

"I need help!" someone cried from the cab. The door flew open and a figure leaped out, covered head-to-toe in mud.

The rain.

Alice and Thompson followed as he ran around the back of the truck, dropping the hatch and revealing a slippery, moaning collection of misery. There were easily a dozen men in the bed of the truck, all covered in mud and filth, but Alice could see blood leaking from eyes, ears, noses, and all manner of raw wounds.

"I'll get Ingrid and Fletcher," Thomson's voice drifted through the pitiful moans that surrounded Alice as she climbed into the bed of the truck.

"And whatever hands we have to spare! And _blankets!_ " Alice called back. She moved swiftly from soldier to soldier, taking in faces and ranking severity in her head.

"What happened?" She yelled over her shoulder, correctly assuming the driver was waiting anxiously behind her.

"Mortar misfired after it got wet, fell right into the trench." The soldier's voice was shaky. _Blast lung, hemorrhage and perforation of the lungs, concussion, brain injuries, eye injuries, fragmentation injuries, burns, broken bones, shock._ The collection of injuries fit. "…ma'am?" the soldier's voice was more hesitant now.

"What is it?" Alice couldn't take the time to look back again. She was pressing a clean cloth that she had happened to have in her pocket against a soldier's face, holding the remains of his face together.

"There was another truck right behind me."

* * *

Three trucks eventually pulled up to the 111th, with varying degrees of suffering that tapered off into headaches and sprains. Beds were filled and the mud spread wet hands further into their lives. Bright, smoking fires burned all day, heavy kettles of water boiling over at every moment as the attempt to keep up with sterilization fought a losing battle with blood and mud.

In the middle of the chaos, as Alice and Ingrid found themselves nearly consumed by the blood and ichor, salvation came in the form of two sleep-deprived nurses who definitely didn't want to be awake. Joanna made sure to announce it firmly and loudly as she entered the main tent, yanking her cap over barely-tamed hair.

Ingrid looked shocked. "What are you two doing up? You should be asleep."

"You are right – I _should_ be asleep!" Joanna agreed vehemently. "But instead, a certain _wonderful_ doctor is concerned enough about contamination that he woke all of his nurses."

Alice snorted. "He's just so great at predicting how poorly that's going to work in his favor tonight."

"Now's not the time, Al," Gloria chided, sinking her arms up to the elbow in the same wash-bin Alice was using.

"You're right," Alice agreed in a chirp. "The time will be in about, oh, five hours? When you were _supposed_ to be waking up and starting your day?"

Gloria shook her head slowly without losing her typical motherly gaze. "You really can't be left to your own devices."

"We knew that already," Ingrid's tone was snippy as she attempted to make a joke. It fell as flat as the level of caffeine in her blood. "Where's the rest of the penicillin?"

"In the back," Alice called across the tent.

"I'm _looking_ in the back, there isn't any there," Ingrid replied.

"It's been weeks since we had a substantial resupply," Gloria sighed, plunging her hands deeper into the sudsy water as she attacked a particularly aggressive bloodstain on a sheet of bandages.

"Here," Joanna reached around the smaller woman, moving a pile of bandages to one side. "I've been hiding a little at a time – Doctor Fletcher uses way too much Penicillin at once. He could get by with _half_ the dosages he gives the men."

"Jojo!" Gloria chastised. "What if there had been an emergency?"

Joanna's face was blank. "Then there would have been an _emergency supply_ , as there is at this precise moment."

"Just give it here," Ingrid reached around Joanna and seized the bottle, running off instantly.

"You're welcome!" Joanna called after her. "Ungrateful," she grumbled under her breath. "Well, I'm awake, so I might as well get something done."

Gloria and Alice watched with matching grins as the irritated nurse went to find someone to torture with her kindness. "She's not really a morning person, is she?" Alice murmured to Gloria, squeezing water from her scrubbed bandages.

Gloria raised an eyebrow. "If by morning person you mean 'adjusts well to being woken unexpectedly', then no; Joanna is not a morning person." Gloria withdrew her own sheet of bandages from the tub – she had cleaned it far faster than Alice was capable of doing – and wrung them in her hands.

"Are you capable of saying anything bad about anyone?" It didn't seem possible. Gloria was the mother of their little group, keeping them centered and balanced all at once; like a gymnast standing at the edge of a diving board, getting ready to leap for a trapeze bar out in the middle of space.

A smile quirked at the edge of her lips, and she glanced over Alice's shoulder. "He looks dreadful."

Alice turned at the middle to follow Gloria's nod. It was the driver from that morning – the one who had arrived with the first truckload of wounded. He was seated across the tent, at the bedside of a soldier who had been missing most of his face. He seemed grim – for good reason – but also pale.

Alice and Gloria shared a look, and the latter nodded. Alice handed her the bandages and dried her hands swiftly. "Are you alright, Private…?" Alice asked with a calculated amount of concern, approaching the pallid man.

He rolled a shoulder. "Donovan, Ma'am. Just stiff from the drive – don't worry about me."

Alice didn't buy it for a minute. "You let me know if you need anything at all, you hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"You ask for me by name – don't let any of these other crazies touch you." She held his gaze with a fixed, stern look until he agreed. Alice waited a moment, assuring herself that he was sincere. "Good. I'm Lieutenant Alice Shaw."

He nodded sharply like he meant to salute but couldn't find the energy. "Private John Donovan, ma'am."

Alice meant to reply, but she was seized roughly at the elbow by Ingrid. She had a surprisingly fierce grip for a tiny, timid woman. "I need you!" Ingrid hissed in her ear.

"What's going on?" Alice asked, following Ingrid through the recovery tent, out through the rain, and into Surgery.

Ingrid's ramblings verged on hysteria. "I tried – I really tried – but he just won't listen to a _nurse_ , and I thought that maybe you could try."

"Try _what_ , honey?" Alice asked as she reflexively dunked her hands in the wash basin. Ingrid reached into the water and pulled Alice's hands out.

"There's no time for that, come on," Ingrid urged.

"For _what_ , then?!" Alice cried, past the point of confusion, as she and Ingrid burst through the heavy canvas barrier into the operating theater and it became instantly clear why the shy woman was on the verge of hysterics.

The room was a catastrophe of supplies. There were towels, bandages, and empty bottles littering every horizontal surface. Blood smeared every surface and had started to coagulate into slimy pools on the floor. Doctor Fletcher was working furiously to pull pieces of shrapnel from a soldier's face, though the surgical assistants and technicians in the room were standing curiously far from the table.

Alice took a hesitant step closer and her stomach churned. The soldier's face was indistinguishable from ground beef – no human features remaining save a mop of bloodied blonde hair and a funny birthmark on his neck. The skin visible on his torso through further concussive mangling was gray. His chest did not move.

"Doctor Fletcher…" Alice whispered.

"Not now, nurse," He snapped.

"Doctor Fletcher, this man is dead." Alice's tone was cold – not intended to be cruel, but as a measure of self-insulation. It did no good to weep for the dead. There was too many dead, and they would need too many tears. It did no good to weep in the rain.

"No, he's not! I know it may seem beyond _your_ capabilities to save men's souls but I am not a nurse!" He dug furiously in the man's face, extracting yet another six-inch-long shard of shrapnel. "I am the Chief Surgeon of this Field Hospital and I am going to save this man's life!"

"Allen," Alice's voice was hard as she rested a hand on his. "It's time."

" _No!_ " the doctor cried, flinging her hand from his roughly. "He's not! It's not time!"

Alice didn't move back as he raged. She lowered her voice to the most soothing she could manage and spoke to the surgical assistant closest to Dr. Fletcher. "Private Anderson, I think Doctor Fletcher could use something hot to eat. Why don't you take him to the kitchen and see he gets some soup."

The surgical assistant looked at Alice, then at the raging Chief Surgeon. Say whatever you like about power structures, the assistants knew better than to piss off the nurses. He nodded to Alice but hesitated to approach the man wielding tongs and a sharp scalpel. Alice nodded to the other technicians and assistants in the room, and between the four of them, they slowly extricated Dr. Fletcher from the room.

" _Damn you, Alice! Damn you to hell!_ " Fletcher's voice broke into something raw as he was hauled away.

The man's body was cold. Blood had stopped leaking from his wounds and had simply collected in slowly coagulating pools in his face, in his chest, and on the floor. It was grim, but Alice hoped that his brain had checked out at the moment of impact, even if it took his heart a little longer to get the message.

 _Hearts are fickle like that_ , Alice thought to herself. _They carry on long after reason has died._

Alice retrieved a clipboard and a blank death certificate. Resting the board on her hip she tugged the man's dog tags forward of his shirt, and pulled the short chain free from the main length. She attached it to the death tag and flipped it over to read his name.

 _Pvt. 1_ _st_ _Class Eugene R. Fletcher_

* * *

 **June 30, 1943**

It was late evening, and the nurses were in the middle of a shift change. Alice and Gloria were enjoying their first cup of coffee while Ingrid and Joanna reviewed their notes for the day. It was the most casual time of day for the nurses – everyone awake, chatting, helping each other – but also represented a moment of strain. Changing of the guard, as it were, left people feeling exposed.

Joanna was more proficient at carefully calculating dosages of medication, while Alice was more adept at wrapping bandages so that when Joanna did an abbreviated version of rounds with Alice, the latter would idly tighten bandages. Joanna would snap at the other woman _it's fine as it is_ , and Alice would resolve to fix the bandages later.

The tension never lasted; they loved each other too much. They were the four sisters of the 111th hospital, and they certainly fought like sisters.

The four nurses finished rounds around the same time Alice finished her first cup of coffee. Alice held the cup out of the tent flap and waited for the usual _ping-ping-ping_ of rainwater to rinse out the tin, but it never came. Alice stuck her head out of the flap and looked up. "It stopped raining!" she cried victoriously.

"You just now noticed?" Joanna asked with a smirk,

"I just now finished my coffee, so yes; I just now noticed."

"Oh dear…" Ingrid whispered.

The three nurses glanced at her, then followed her concerned gaze across the tent.

Dr. Fletcher was crouched over a patient, syringe in hand. He looked torn as he hesitated, the needle hovering over the soldier's skin. His glance flickered back to the soldier's sweaty skin, pallid complexion, and his wheezing breath. Resolution cleared in his eyes, and he slipped the syringe into his skin, administering the medication.

"What's going on?" Alice asked, reading Ingrid's grim expression. She didn't want to approach Dr. Fletcher and ask – they hadn't spoken since she had him hauled out of his brother's operation. Alice had heard that he'd been offered R&R time to attend the funeral and he had refused. She wasn't sure what that said about him as a person, or as a grieving brother.

"That's the last of the Penicillin," Ingrid whispered. "Joanna's reserves."

Alice plucked at her shirt; as the rain had ceased, the humidity was starting to rise and she realized she was distinctly uncomfortable. "Well… shit. What do we have left?"

"Certainly not Penicillin," Joanna grumbled.

"Stop that." Gloria smacked her arm.

Cheering and applause interrupted their discussion. Gloria was the first to follow the sound, and the other three followed. A collection of relatively healthy patients and their caregivers had gathered at the road, and Alice could see the bobbing of a few hundred heads, marching down the soggy road in front of the Admissions and Triage tent.

Ingrid and Joanna waved and batted their eyes at soldiers as they waved and winked back. Flirts, every one of them.

"That's the 107th Infantry," Thompson explained. He spared barely a glance for the passing soldiers from his admissions station. The cheery nature seemed to have leaked from his eyes, an odd mismatch with the soldiers streaming past; chatter lively and spirits high.

Alice hesitated to ask. "Did they come with a supply transport?"

"No such luck."

"Any more food?"

"Some."

The four nurses leaned heavily against four respective tent posts as they watched the faces glance their way. Alice clenched her jaw, feeling the doom of time lean ever closer; a pendulum swinging a knife closer and closer to her heart. "They send us more soldiers but not the supplies we need to keep them alive?"

Thompson didn't reply.

The Sun set on the Western Front, and the rain moved on.

* * *

A/N: Hey readers! I added some fun stuff to my profile – songs! I have a bit of music I use to channel each character so now you can play each piece over and over just like meeeeee…

And DANG friendos – this story is getting dark, isn't it? I'm super proud of all of the dialogue in his chapter. Like… you don't' even know. Group dynamics are so hard, bruh.

But now the 107th has arrived at the front, with our darling Bucky somewhere in that flirtatious crowd.

-RANT-

You wanna know what really cheezes my doodles? Watching CA: The First Avenger (for research purposes) and the crazy weirdness going on. During Cap's return from rescuing the 107th … what is happening? There's medics wandering around with their bags (bruh you're prob busier than that), and random expressionless soldiers wandering in the direction of the front gate (dude why) IMMEDIATELY AFTER many soldiers are running past Carter and Phillips' tent with excitement and (the greatest why) nurses appearing in starched whites in the crowd shot, Field Base nurses definitely DID NOT wear whites – they wore green; just the same as the other soldiers because…. how do you bleach/boil/starch white clothes when you don't have great laundry facilities? ESPECIALLY not 5 miles from the front (as seen in location caption in CA:TFA) – it was common to use one's helmet as a wash bin for laundry, and even that wasn't done frequently. And don't even START that "maybe those are Red Cross Nurses?" because HELLS NO would they be so close to the front. Also – during the Howling Commandos "let's blow up all the factories lol" adventure, where the hell were they sleeping/eating? It's not clear. There's a vague shot of them strategizing on the hood of a jeep as a truck rolls past… did they have a moving camp? Sleep on the ground? Not sleep at all? Mysteries abound.

-END RANT-

Thank you to my lovely reviewers: Sanguinary Tide and Spiritwolf (guest)!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	7. Do No Harm

Alice tried to keep herself occupied, which required very little effort on her part. She stayed up late and woke early in the morning, offering her friends as much sleep as they could steal. It became an increasingly frequent occurrence that they would be woken in the middle of the night, or asked to work past a normal 12-hour day into fourteen, sometimes sixteen hours.

It didn't bother Alice – even though she was hardily addicted to her morning coffee, the hours didn't exhaust her so much as the emotional toll of surrounding yourself with suffering. It weighed heavily on her heart to watch the men try to reign in the misery in her presence. They were stray animals; looking for a dark corner to ride out the agony or just die in peace.

It was in the middle of an afternoon that had blessed the 111th with four straight days of sunshine when Alice learned that she could no longer bear to stand idly by. She was rolling bandages – a task beloved by no one, but necessary nonetheless – while sitting in front of the main surgery tent. She wasn't too upset at having the task as it meant she could enjoy a little of the summer sunshine, and it kept her hands busy.

"Lieutenant Shaw?" a voice called from the entrance of the tent beside her.

She looked up from the rolls as a soldier exited the tent, looking sheepish. "Private… Donovan, was it?"

"Yes Ma'am – can I take you up on that offer to have a look at my shoulder? It hasn't really gotten better." He rolled it with a wince.

Alice finished the roll with a quick twist and set it on the pile. "Of course, go inside and I'll take a look." She tossed – as carefully as possible – the rolled bandages in their wide tin and slipped the lid on top. She perched it on her hip as she followed Donovan inside the tent and tucked the tin away on a shelf.

Alice had seen enough bruising in the last few months that Donovan's case didn't even make her blink, and it was some fairly severe bruising – a consequence of the percussive force of an exploding mortar. "How long has it been this color?" she asked, gently palpating the skin around the purple-green swaths of color stretching from his shoulder down his chest.

"Got pretty dark a day or so after I got here, and hasn't lightened much," the private replied.

Alice nodded – no one was getting the nutrition for injuries to heal at the proper rate. However, she was also concerned about latent damage from hauling men out of the trenches – _torn ligaments, maybe?_ Alice ran through the very short list of available supplies in her head and came up with a big empty space where bruise treatments should have been located.

In the present decade, the only real treatments for bruises were ice, heat treatment, and compression. Alice worried a little on her lower lip. There was another option, but…

It had never seemed right – or prudent – to start supplementing available medicine with her specialized knowledge. Sure, it had made for great fun at pissing off Cable, but until that moment she had held back in using it practically. Alice had doubts – painful, pressing doubts – about affecting the timeline. If the 111th hospital was meant to run out of surgical instruments, or food, or medicine, would her supplementation send shockwaves through time?

 _Surely helping a bruise or two heal can't be that important_ , Alice reasoned with herself. _Do no harm, right?_

But that wasn't the harm she had traveled through time to prevent. She had come to save a soldier that hadn't even been created yet. She had defied the laws of physics to defend a single man from a single bullet, and then she would need to travel forward again to her own time. That was what was _right_.

It didn't feel right. It didn't feel right to surround herself with suffering and turn a blind eye. She knew that they were surrounded by natural medicines that could provide comfort. She knew that the fields were full of comfrey, plantain, and fennel. She knew that everyone could get a much heartier meal several times a day if she pointed out where to harvest dandelions and garlic. She knew all of this, but she still held back from fear.

"I understand if you're too busy, Ma'am," Private Donovan interjected in her mental dilemma with a forgiving smile. He even started to reach for his shirt, too accustomed to disappointment.

 _Fuck it._

Alice grabbed her fellow nurse by the arm as she came to retrieve some of the freshly-rolled bandages. "Gloria, can you cover for me for maybe twenty minutes?"

"What – why?" the other nurse spluttered as Alice didn't bother waiting for an answer.

"I'll be right back!" Alice grabbed a canvas satchel from a nail embedded in the tent-post and jogged to the edge of camp. She squinted in the sun and shielded her eyes with a hand, looking for a flash of purple in the field. Alice had seen it growing wild nearby, and has considered harvesting on more than one occasion.

What if she changed too much? Would she change the future so drastically that she didn't recognize it upon her return? Could more surviving American soldiers be a _bad_ thing? If anything, wouldn't there just be fewer broken families back in the States?

The flowers mocked her, bobbing and laughing in the breeze. _Salvation is here_ , they whispered, _if you dare to try._

If she ever wanted to have a peaceful night's sleep again – if she ever wanted to silence the screams that haunted her – she would need to bury it in small favors. Bury the voices pleading for help, pleading for death.

She grabbed armfuls of the stuff, the fine hairs of the stems tickling her arms. She marched back to camp and dumped the huge pile on a clean cloth by a fire and filled the kettle to start the slow process of coming to a boil.

She sat next to the fire as she started pulling leaves from the long stems and placed them carefully in a glass jar. After a few minutes, Gloria popped her head out of the tent and gave her a peculiar look. Giving in to the inevitable questioning, Alice waved her over.

"So what are you doing?" Gloria asked, hands on her hips and giving Alice a very 'disappointed mom' face.

"I'm making tea." She was making a tincture, but that sounded far less casual than tea. She could play off a "tea" without too much questioning.

Gloria squinted into glass jar of leaves as Alice took the water from the fire and poured it in slowly – she didn't want it at a true boil, just hot. "Sure doesn't look like any tea I've seen before," she murmured.

"It's just to help some bruises," Alice tried to wave it off. "Comfrey is good for bruises."

Gloria glanced up at Alice's face. She looked hopeful as the skepticism faded. "Do you think there's enough for a few more cups? There's a few fellas who would really appreciate just a little more help over in Tent Four."

"Uh…" Alice hadn't been expecting that response. "Yeah. When it's done, I'll soak some towels in it so there should be plenty. It's just topical."

Gloria looked relieved. "That's wonderful, Alice – thank you so much." She placed a hand on Alice's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Really, thank you."

Alice kept a close eye on the water as it slowly changed color. She would have much preferred to make it over the proper course of a few days (or even weeks for a particularly strong dose), but this was just something small. She was just helping a few men with some bruises.

* * *

It happened slowly.

If it had happened any faster, Alice would have realized and put a stop to it. The very next day, Alice received at least two questions like "Lieutenant Shaw, Private Donovan told me you have something for bruises?" The following week, it became "Ma'am, I know it's not quite the same, but do you have anything for bee stings?"

Alice became familiar with the tentative phrase "Miss Alice?" It had a very particular tone to it – a little hopeful, a little intimidated.

It took less than a month for Alice to develop a real reputation as the local healer. While the 111th Field Hospital wasn't the go-to for large sucking wounds – being a field hospital, after all – it was the desired destination for life's little miseries. Bug bites, rashes, a cough that won't quite quit; you want to go see 2nd Lieutenant Shaw of the 111th Field Hospital.

Alice found large portions of her spare time became dedicated to collecting, drying, and preserving the local medicinal plant life. Her fellow nurses grumbled and complained about the various plants drying from the tent-posts, but Alice's remedies helped to reduce the aura of misery that lingered around the hospital, and even curmudgeonly Joanna couldn't argue with results.

Alice also discovered a very helpful side effect of having a healing factor; she only needed about one to two hours of sleep every night to feel fully rested. It had never occurred to her as a possibility – habit had always led her to seek seven to eight hours. It left vast swaths of otherwise unused time open to her, and she used it abundantly.

But even good deeds have consequences.

* * *

 **July 14, 1943**

Allen Fletcher was in a good mood. The sun was shining, the floor was dry, and he had found a surplus of time on his hands for the first time in over a week. He had decided to do a good deed, and pick up a smaller case from the receiving area, instead of calling for a nurse or medical aide to take care of it.

"How can I help you, son?" Doctor Fletcher asked the soldier as he approached, his face warm and just the right amount of concerned.

The soldier squirmed under his gaze, eyes flickering down to his hands. "Well, Sir… I was actually hoping to see Miss Alice?"

Allen Fletcher had been in a good mood, up until that moment. His eye twitched as he tried to keep his composure. "Son, I'm more than capable of handling whatever is bothering you."

The soldier nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes Sir! But… it's just…"

 _He wants Alice._

He wanted Alice with her cold, dark eyes. He wanted the witch-woman. He wanted Alice, who let men die. He preferred a _nurse,_ who was intent on stealing all of his patients for some strange grasp at glory.

"Excuse me, Son," fletcher turned on his heel, the swift motion stirring up the mud hiding under a thin layer of sunbaked soil.

 _Alice Shaw is a menace._

Fletcher ripped open canvas tent flaps, startling soldiers who had been resting in relative shadow. His burning glare whipped from corner to corner, searching for the cornsilk-blonde. He didn't respond to several calls of concern in his search.

But then he heard the trill of her laughter – behind him, around the Mess. He burst from the tent with the same fury with which he had entered, following that wicked witch's call.

He pushed through a crowd of men gathered around a fire, sharing low conversation and watching a large kettle simmer gently over a controlled fire. He glanced into it briefly, not really looking with any intent, but stopped cold when he saw what was floating on the surface. Fletcher had been expecting to see chunks of meat cooking in the evening's stew, but instead saw… flowers? A cold rage filled his heart – _it's that witch's work_ , he though.

Without stopping to think further about the action, Fletcher upended the large cookpot of sweet-smelling tea, pouring the entire contents into the fire below. A huge plume of steam shot up an out, screaming with heat and scented like mint.

"Who's responsible for this?" he roared.

None of the soldiers around the campfire answered.

"Well _somebody_ better say something!" he bellowed, stomping his foot.

"Doctor Fletcher," came the chilly voice he had been hunting. The soldiers parted to allow the small blonde nurse to approach Fletcher and the fire. She looked sadly down at the upended cookpot and several wasted hours spread out in the soot and mud. "I hope you have a good reason for disturbing afternoon tea."

He marched up to Alice, towering a good six or eight inches over her head, and waved an accusatory finger in her face. "I know what you've been up to, Shaw – don't think I don't!"

Alice's expression was unflappable. "Well… I was tending to the replenishment of a few IVs before I was informed some soap-for-brains had ruined my tea."

He grabbed her by the arm, giving her a hardy shake. " _I_ am the chief surgeon of this field hospital, and I will _not_ be spoken to in such a manner by a _nurse._ " He snarled in her face, his breath sour. "You are worth _nothing_ – I can replace you within a _week_."

"Is that so?" Alice quirked a brow. "And for that week, do you plan on sleeping?"

Fletcher's grip loosened a hair, and his face grew uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"I mean do you enjoy getting eight hours of sleep every night?" Alice tilted her head, her expression as cold as her eyes were dark. "I ask because after you've completed a surgery – some of them truly impressive – it is the _nurses_ who keep your patients alive in recovery. If you lost one nurse, well…" she shrugged, and Fletcher's grip tightened again. "It would be up to someone else to maintain aftercare."

Her gaze redirected to the crowd of soldiers who had grown much, much closer during their very public argument. "What about bee stings, Doctor? Are you willing to devote a half-hour to those? What about rashes? Mild burns? Stomach aches?"

Alice leaned closer, snarling into Fletcher's ear. "You may save their lives, Allen, but I make life _tolerable_ again."

Fletcher released the nurse, stumbling back as his rage withered away. He turned away from her, seeking redemption from those lives around him he had indeed saved, and found only contempt. Only anger. Faces turned to Alice instead, seeking the nurse's healing magic.

* * *

Arnold was going through the Smithsonian's collection of War letters again. He remembered some odd phrasing had come up with occasion, and he had the nagging feeling it might be connected to this mysterious Alice Shaw.

It wasn't that the name was unfamiliar, or that her face was so hard to find in photos. It was the _107_ _th_ bit that confused him. For being the origin of two Howling Commandos, Arnold had held great pride in being familiar with every member. On top of that, nurses simply hadn't been assigned like that. Sure – hospitals tended to take care of men from the regiments and divisions that were closest to their hospitals –

Arnold nearly threw the letters across the room. _The hospitals!_

Letters forgotten, he slid over on his wheeled desk chair to a different filing cabinet. These were very nice cabinets, mind you – temperature controlled and dust-proof, but filing cabinets all the same.

He first perused a map of Italy, running a finger through the mountains until he found his destination – _Azzano._ From there, he worked West until he found the three closest Field Hospitals: 96th, 130th, and 111th

More gliding across the linoleum of the basement floor, to the appropriate files for the 96th, 130th, and 111th field hospitals. In only a few moments, a series of rosters lay at his fingertips.

96th FH ANC DIV: _1_ _st_ _LT_ _Petunia Pembroke, 2_ _nd_ _LT Dorothy Bell, 2_ _nd_ _LT Agnes Dover, 2_ _nd_ _LT Samantha Turner_

Arnold tossed the 96th back on his desk.

130th FH ANC DIV: _Cpt. Mary Williams, 1_ _st_ _LT Diana Patterson, 2_ _nd_ _LT Jessica Smith, 2_ _nd_ _LT Sarah Irving_

The 130th joined the 96th.

111th FH ANC DIV: _1_ _st_ _LT Gloria Potter, 2_ _nd_ _LT Joanna Quill, 2_ _nd_ _LT Ingrid Hill, 2nd_ _LT Alice Shaw_

Arnold stared.

 _2_ _nd_ _LT Alice Shaw_

He laughed.

 _Found you._

* * *

A/N: Here we are! I do have to apologize for how slowly chapters are coming out, but it's been a struggle to figure out when/how to introduce characters in a way that feels natural and flows well with the plot. I hope you all continue to bear with me – next chapter Alice is going to meet up with a familiar face!

HOLY COW I REALLY HAVEN'T UPDATED IN TWO MONTHS?

I AM SO SORRY

Many thanks to my reviewers: AnonumousX (guest) and LadyScarlettDixon !

 **PLEASE REVIEW**


	8. The Slippery Slope

**July 26** **th** **, 1943**

Early afternoon found Alice hunched over a basket of roots and tubers, explaining what each item was to a nodding cook. Dandelion roots, wild potatoes, onion, carrot, and garlic. "Always show me the wild carrot before you cook it – Hemlock looks very similar and you don't want to eat that." The cook thanked Alice profusely even as she tried to wave it off.

 _Just keeping spirits up_ , she would call it. Keeping bellies full helped everyone heal faster, and kept grumpy voices at a minimum.

"You all done with your side job?" Gloria linked arms with Alice, guiding her back to the main tent. "Can I get you to pick up a Mud Eater or two?"

The hospital had been relatively quiet for the last few days, and Alice had been able to use her spare time to forage for the kitchens. Now it seemed that the infantrymen were piling up again. "I'm all done for now. Where are they?"

"Right here," Gloria beamed, holding open the nearest tent flap and thrusting Alice's apron into her hands. "I'm in desperate need of a Blanket Drill, if you know what I mean."

"Enjoy," Alice called to her already retreating form. Gloria waved one hand lazily, vanishing between the rows of tents. Laughing under her breath, Alice retrieved the clipboard from the small table by the entrance, glancing down the list of soldiers waiting to be seen.

Alice approached the first bed in the line. "Name?" she asked, not yet looking up from her clipboard.

"Sergeant Dugan; 107th Infantry Regiment Ma'am." She looked up into a smiling, moustached face. He held a bowler cap with an applique of his rank in his lap, and was trying very hard not to look uncomfortable.

Alice stepped into the aisle formed by the rows of beds, and tucked the clipboard into her armpit. "Lieutenant Shaw, nice to meet you. What seems to be the problem?"

Dugan raised his arm, revealing a colorful burn on his arm. "Three guesses."

Alice leaned closer to examine the burn. "Someone didn't watch the dinner fire very carefully." She set the clipboard on a shelf and dunked her hands in a bin of water at the foot of the bed. "I'm not going to poke around too much, I just need to check sensation and how bad the burn is, alright?"

"Yes Ma'am," he confirmed curtly.

Alice dried her hands, and palpated the burn gently. Dugan shifted away from her unconsciously, but Alice held tight to him at the elbow. She pressed her finger on a bright pink section of the burn – between two developing blisters – and watched for it to blanch, then flush pink again.

 _Good_ , she thought. "Well, you haven't done yourself any favors, but you'll live," Alice declared. "I can put something on there to make you a little more comfortable, but it'll be about three weeks before you're one-hundred percent again."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Dugan chuckled. "That's what I get for trying to cook leather, I suppose." Dugan glanced around. "Speaking of – got any grub to spare?"

"Of course, Sergeant – I'll get you a bowl of stew once I'm done with your arm. Sound fair?"

He nodded emphatically. "More than." Alice withdrew a jar of comfrey leaves, pulling out a small handful, and the Sergeant took his arm back. "Hey – L.T., not to speak out of turn or anything, but are those… leaves?"

Alice gently took his arm again, placing the freshly pounded comfrey leaves directly on his burned skin. "We run short on supplies here at the 111th, so we make do with what I can forage. This is comfrey – think 'comfrey for comfort' – and it's amazing for burns." She wrapped the leaves snugly against his arm in a layer of cloth.

Dugan flexed his arm, nodding. "Yeah, I can feel it already."

"Let me go get you that stew, Sergeant Dugan."

"Call me Dum Dum – say, L.T. ..." he trailed off, and Alice glanced back at him. "There are a couple of other guys who got burned, but didn't want to make the trip for something so small and put you all out. Think I could take some of those comfort leaves with me?" Alice chewed her lip and he rushed to retract his request. "If you can't spare any, I understand."

"No, no – I was just thinking…" Alice trailed off. "How long until sundown?"

"Couple of hours, why?"

Alice was already gathering a collection of jars. "If they aren't willing to make a relatively short jeep ride for a burn I'm willing to bet there's more wrong with them. Trench-foot, maybe?"

"I'm not following you…"

"Yeah – I am you – to the Front Line."

Dum Dum's eyebrows threatened to jump off the top of his head. "Oh, doll – you don't want to go there. It's dangerous, and-"

"Hell on Earth, I know." Alice's eyes flared with fiery determination. "I can either ride with you or follow the sound of mortars; your choice." A thought occurred to her, and she had to fight back a wicked smile. "And besides, I outrank you."

Dugan's handlebar moustache twitched with a smile. "Alrighty then, L.T."

* * *

Leaving camp wasn't strictly _allowed_ for nurses, in part because they didn't have a lot of free time, and in part because they were close enough to the front to be in danger of surprise attacks. There was also something about leaving your post AWOL, but Alice had chosen not to think about her situation like that.

 _I'm preventing an inundation of amputation cases a week or so from now_ , she rationalized as she shoved her helmet into her satchel. The metal clanked against the glass and tin containers already bulging from the sides, and she froze.

Across the tent, Joanna stirred in her cot. An annoyingly light sleeper, the other woman propped herself up and rubbed at her eyes. "Whassgoinon?" she slurred.

"Nothing – go back to sleep," Alice urged.

Joanna ignored the order and sat up fully, taking in Alice's form in a surprisingly quick appraisal. "Where are you going?" Joanna accused loudly.

"Ssh!" Alice insisted. "I'm going to check on some men with the 107th. I think they might be developing trench-foot in that muck." She hurried to finish her packing in the event that Joanna decided to cause a commotion.

"Just wait for them to come here – why go to the trenches?" The other woman just huffed, waving a hand less than emphatically. "It's not safe out there, Alice."

Alice approached her friend and crouched next to the cot, lowering her voice to barely more than a whisper. "Jojo – if I wait for them to come to us it may be time to amputate a foot. If I go to them, they can be in fighting shape by morning." Her eyes were pleading. "Just… don't say anything, okay? I'll be back before sunrise."

Joanna huffed, flopping back down in her cot and pulling the thick wool over her head. "Won't catch me going out in the middle of the night – no sir!"

Alice patted Joanna's head as she stood. "Thank you, Jojo." Joanna muttered something darkly as Alice poked her head out of the tent, checked both ways for witnesses, and vanished into the darkness.

Alice didn't need light to navigate her way through camp. She had tripped over every cable at some point or another, and conked her head on every overhanging bow and beam. Because of this, she moved smoothly through camp and around to the road that bordered the Field Hospital.

The horn of a jeep called her from a little further down the road – just where the road met the forest. Alice waved one hand and jogged to meet the driver. "Broadway and 45th, please," Alice greeted as she swung herself into the passenger seat.

"That's quite a ways from here; it's twenty cents for the first mile, and five cents for every additional, Ma'am," Dugan greeted.

"That's outrageous!" Alice clutched at her throat with mock-drama. "Nighthawks, indeed."

"Them's the biz, Ma'am; the kids gotta eat," he sighed as he turned the engine over. "You should probably put your helmet on now, just in case."

As experienced as Alice had been slipping through camp, it was nothing compared to Dugan's driving. The jeep probably couldn't go much over 60 miles per hour, but Dugan kept it at that speed consistently even as they bounced around the muddy road like a pixel in Pong. He also wisely kept conversation to a minimum as he drove, as the bouncing, swerving truck had a habit of kicking up mud and the jeep didn't have any doors to keep it from spraying up at them.

Alice wondered how many times Dugan had driven the route between the trenches of the 107th and the grounds of the 111th F.H. with a bleeding man or two in tow. It definitely wasn't good driving conversation, so she tucked the question away.

Dugan made the trip in just under an hour, parking the Jeep under a wide overhang constructed of painted, torn canvas and felled branches – camouflage from bombers passing overhead, and waved for Alice to follow him.

There was a short trench cut into the hillside, with braced stairs leading down into the deeper sections. "Stay close – it's a bit of a maze."

And it was indeed a maze. Alice knew from both history classes and time-jump-prep what the literal definition of a trench was, and she had seen diagrams and archived photos, but it was another thing entirely to be picking her way through them in the dark in person.

Alice wobbled a bit trying to find her balance. There was a layer of mud covering the floorboards at the base of the trench, and it made for treacherous footing.

"Keep one hand on the side – it helps," Dugan suggested as she swore quietly. Alice nodded, her helmet rocking a little on her head.

She lifted her head from focusing on her feet as they worked their way deeper into the trenches. Once they had passed the entrance and a few feeder tunnels more faces began to appear in the darkness. Few candles and lamps illuminated the scene, and it made Alice jumpy.

"Gods help me," she murmured. She could hear the low rumble of misery in the people they passed. A shuddering breath, a tilting gait, or a sickly scent.

"What's that?' Dugan asked, leaning over to hear her better.

"Who's doing the worst?" Alice asked. She couldn't very well treat everyone they passed, could she? No – she wanted to focus on keeping people just in one piece – _just staving off the abject misery_ , she reasoned.

"This way," Dugan cocked his head.

Alice pulled her foot firmly from the mud with a rude _shluuuuuuulch_ sucking sound, trying to follow Dugan. There was a low fog clinging to the inside of the trench, and faces appeared quick and pale in the gloom. Alice's spine tingled with a primal fear response she could not control.

The collection of men before her were pale, and most were slouched in a semi-sleeping position with their arms wrapped tight around rifles. She could see a few hastily-applied bandages on arms and cheeks, and a few sweaty faces in the cool night signaled an underlying infection. _So, this is infantry._

"Lieutenant Shaw?" Dugan caught her attention as it drifted from face to face in the trench.

"Sorry, yes – where should I start?" Alice asked, already fishing around in her satchel.

"Dealer's choice," Dugan offered a tired smile.

Alice had been right, of course. The burns were mostly superficial – barely tipping into the second-degree range – but the host of other minor complaints built up to a situation of misery. Fungal infections, bacterial infections, and a whole host of gastrointestinal issues were plaguing the 107th.

"What are all of you eating these days?" Alice asked the group.

"Mostly K-rations, Ma'am," Dugan supplied. "It's what we can get."

Alice hummed thoughtfully to herself. "I'd really like for you to get some greens – it would help a lot."

"If you could write a prescription, Ma'am, I'd be happy to show it to the Germans next time we skirmish," Dugan drawled.

Alice rolled her eyes at the Sergeant. "Do you want to be sassy or do you want to take a decent shit?"

"I can't do both?" He curled his moustache thoughtfully.

Alice ignored him. "I want you all to keep an eye out for dandelions – you know what those look like, right?"

"The weed?" a Private to her left asked.

Alice nodded to him. "Yes – the weed. The whole plant is edible."

"You want us to eat weeds, Ma'am?" Alice's attention was drawn to her right.

"Yes, _yes_ – the weed. Just trust me, it'll make a lot of things better." She glanced further down the line, making sure to make eye contact with each Private left to her care. One man on the end wasn't making good eye contact – his eyes were a little glassy.

Alice frowned and approached him, hitching her bag's strap higher on her shoulder to avoid accidentally smacking it against the men she passed – the trenches were a tight fit the further out she went.

"L.T.?" Dugan asked, following her.

"I think something's wrong," Alice murmured under her breath. She swept her gaze from head to toe, taking in the tiniest of details in an attempt to deduce the problem without alarming her patient. She settled her attention on his boots – the mud was caked thick on his laces, and didn't look like anyone had adjusted them in several days, at the very least.

"Boots," Alice whispered. Without pausing to clarify, she sank to one knee and pulled at the muddy laces of one boot with quick but steady hands. The Private was mumbling protests, but Dugan silenced him with a quick bark.

Alice pulled the boot free from the Private's foot an instantly regretted it. She lifted an elbow quickly to cover her nose with her sleeve as a stench threatened to overwhelm her. _Putrefaction._ She took a short breath through her mouth, finding it marginally easier to breathe. "Hi honey – I'm Alice. Can you tell me how long your feet have been hurting?" She offered a warm smile as she looked up at him from her kneeling place in the trench. She could feel the mud soaking into her wool pants, and it grounded her.

The Private stared down at her with glassy eyes. "Oh, m' feet don't hurt no more, Miss Alice."

Alice glanced up at Dugan, his face grim, and turned back to the private with a warm smile. "That's good to hear." Alice pressed a hand to his forehead: burning hot and clammy. "I'll be right back; you stay put, okay?"

Alice stood, grabbing Dugan by the elbow and stepping away from the Private. "When was the last time you had a boot check?" Alice hissed.

"We've got other problems, if you hadn't noticed," he hissed back.

"That man is going to lose a foot if he survives the night!" Alice retaliated. "You really think that's less important than-" she cut herself off, sighing. "Give me every sock that's not currently on a foot. I'll be back after sundown tomorrow." Alice glanced over her shoulder at the delirious soldier. "And I'm taking him with me."

"Private Paulson," Dugan supplied. "Yeah, sure."

"Paulson. Yeah." Alice picked at her sleeve, doing some mental math.

"We've got a stretcher over this way, L.T.," Dugan beckoned, leading the way.

Alice let Dugan get ahead of her, and she paused at a corner. She braced her hand on the muddy side of the trench and took off her helmet to hang her head. Overwhelmed tears ran down her face and frustration ate at her chest.

 _It's not fair_ , Alice repeated like a mantra in her head. _It's not fair, but it's reality. It's history, and there's nothing you can do to change it._ Alice clenched her bracing hand into a fist, feeling the slippery mid squelch in her hand. _This isn't what you were sent here to fix_ , _remember?_

"You can't let it get to you." Alice lifted her head in a snap at the voice, finding Dugan facing her. She saw empathy in his eyes, free of judgement or the mask of mirth. "They believe that if _you_ can handle it, so can they."

"I've got it." Alice nodded, clearing her throat to free it of the tremble she felt in her hands. "The men need to be assigned in pairs – each responsible for making sure the other changes socks every evening. They won't take care of themselves, but they'll be damned if they let their brothers suffer."

Dugan watched her as she wiped the frustrated tears from her face with muddy sleeves. "You got it, L.T."

Alice nodded. "Good. So where's this stretcher?"

* * *

A/N: This chapter got edited a loooooooot, friendos. I also absolutely love this beginning of a strong friendship between Alice and Dum Dum.

Many thanks to my reviewers: B (guest), Xanderseye1, and 99Flores (guest)!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	9. An Unusual Patient

**August 1** **st** **, 1943**

The heat of summer bore down on the Western Front, bringing with it a reminder of the waste of Winter. As the mud started to dry and bake, rot and excrement found most fragrant perfumes, and lice ran rampant. Alice spent much of her "free time" making huge batches of oregano and red thyme extract in the largest vats available, and men walked around the Field Hospital smelling like well-seasoned pizza as they attempted to combat the spread of lice.

Alice begged every soldier who passed through their camp to keep an eye out for wild apple trees, and she practically dreamed of being able to make apple cider vinegar. She fashioned nit combs out of old, dull needles embedded into a wood handle, and left the dexterous men to help others, making what looked comically almost like a hair-braiding chain.

Alice visited the 107th almost every other night, taking whatever supplies she could harvest to make life a little less miserable for the men. She knew on a cognitive level that all of the men across Western Europe were suffering just like the 107th, but she couldn't help all of them. She could help the 107th, and that was enough to let her sleep at night.

It was difficult to sneak away so often – Dum Dum Dugan couldn't always pick her up from the 111th, and one occasion found herself jogging through the forest – all thirty miles of it – to the trenches that housed the 107th infantry. It took her five hours to get there. Alice could only credit her healing factor for preventing her from heaving up dinner all over the forest, and providing her with a base level of fitness.

Dum Dum had _not_ been happy that she had run through the forest alone, and had tried to forbid her from doing it ever again. "Nice try, but I outrank you," had been Alice's reply. But she had agreed – no more solo runs.

It had limited her ability to check on 'her boys' as she called them, which didn't make her happy. So she was pleased to see Dum Dum drive by the hospital that morning.

"Sergeant!" Alice called, waving to Dugan as he drove by. He was alone in the Jeep – having just dropped someone off, presumably – and cruised to a gentle stop in the road. Alice jogged to meet him as he hopped out of the vehicle. A collection of herbs bounced in Alice's arms, tickling her under the chin – more red thyme for the lice.

"Hi L.T. – just picking up supplies. How's Private Paulson?" Dugan asked. He had been touch and go for a while, and Alice had been trying to keep Dum Dum updated.

"He's alive, but he did lose that foot."

"Sorry to hear it, but I brought you a thank-you present."

Alice perked up. "A present? You didn't have to – what is it?" She bounced on her feet, and Dugan laughed at her.

"Now don't get too excited – it's nothing fancy." He pulled a sack out of the back seat, and it bulged in a familiar way.

"No way!" Alice shrieked, shoving the herbs into Dum Dum's arms as she grabbed the sack and pulled the drawstring open. Inside the sack, to her delight and disbelief, were a dozen gorgeous red and yellow apples. "Dum Dum!" Alice cried, jumping up to press an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek. "You're an absolute _angel_!"

"Never seen a dame so excited about a bag of fruit…" Dum Dum scratched the back of his neck bashfully.

Alice twisted in a little dance at the waist, the bag smacking her from side to side. "I can make cider vinegar with this, and treat the lice better, and help with skin rashes, and, and…" She practically glowed. " _Thank you._ "

"The least we could do, really." He cleared his throat. "You coming by soon?" he asked, his voice a little lower.

"I think so," Alice replied. "Everyone okay?"

He lifted one shoulder in an unenthusiastic shrug. "The sun's been helping some, but the heat sure isn't."

Alice nodded. "Some men not sleeping well?"

Dugan gave her a look. "Well, the sound of mortars is such a soothing lullaby…"

"Yeah, yeah – I'll bring something by." Alice hoisted the bag over her shoulder, and took her armful of herbs back from Dugan.

He tipped his hat to her. "Much obliged."

Alice turned to go, but added as an afterthought, "Can you arrange for a ride?"

Dum Dum hummed to himself. "I'll figure something out for getting you back if you can wrangle a ride out."

Alice chewed her lip. "Yeah. I think I can figure something out."

"No solo runs – remember?" He gave her a pointed look, which Alice waved off.

"Yeah, yeah; I remember. See you later, Dum Dum." Alice nearly skipped in giddy joy as she returned to camp – _apples!_ It was good to have friends, she thought to herself. Now she just needed to arrange a ride across dangerous territory in the middle of the night.

* * *

"Goodness gracious, Alice – _again?"_ Joanna groaned as Alice slipped out of her cot in the late evening. "You practically _live_ there."

Alice shushed her. "Go back to sleep, Jo; I'm just checking on them. No harm done."

"Just to your beauty sleep," Joanna replied saucily.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead." Alice shrugged her bag onto her shoulders. "Sleep well, Jojo."

Alice slipped through camp, rehearsing her argument in her head as she approached the Triage tent.

"Evening, Sergeant Thompson!" Alice greeted, just a smidge too enthusiastically. "Quiet night?" she asked, correcting her volume.

"Evening, Miss Shaw," he returned. "What's got you up at this time of night? I thought you were on day rotation."

"About that," Alice smiled. "I need a favor."

* * *

"Can't believe you talked me into this…" Thompson muttered, pulling the Jeep around to the trench entrance. "I'm gonna get court-martialed for this, I just know it."

"It'll be fine – just floor it on the way back," Alice reassured him, hopping out of the Jeep. "I owe you one."

"You owe me _several_ favors, Alice," Thompson corrected, shifting gears on the Jeep. "You check in with me when you get back – you hear me?"

"I hear you," Alice confirmed. "Safe drive!"

Thompson glowered at her and did not reply as he pulled away into the darkness.

"Cavalry's here!" came a cry in the dark – the concealed guard, as always. The call summoned soldiers from all corners of the trench, and as Alice worked her way to the heart of it all she found herself leading quite the parade of enthusiastic ducklings.

"What'd you bring us, L.T.?"

Alice chastised her followers. "Patience! You know the drill." She always checked on those worst off first thing – just in case there was a night raid and she had to cut the visit short. Dum Dum and the other commanding officers had made a strict "no Alice during an active firefight" rule after Alice took a hard shot to the helmet one dark evening. Alice didn't like that rule.

"Yeah – they're this way." Alice followed the stream of soldiers through the maze of trenches to the widest stretch – often used as the meeting point for Alice's secret – rapidly becoming less than secret – visits. She was greeted with an anemic chorus of "L.T.!" and "Miss Shaw!" and "Uh oh – the Wicked Witch is here," of varying degrees. Alice provided an evil cackle and hunched over like an old lady, eliciting a series of laughs.

"But really – how is everyone?" she asked, dropping her pack and flipping open the top. "I hear you haven't been sleeping well, and I'm betting that Anderson – yes, _you_ – you haven't changed your socks as often as I told you to."

The Private in question smiled guiltily. "I tried, L.T. – couldn't get 'em to dry right out here."

"Well, I brought you a present," Alice grinned, pulling out a pair of dry socks from her bag of wonders. "Trade you. I'll take yours and give them to the next bozo who can't keep his feet dry."

"I also brought a right proper bedtime story." Alice retrieved a few bottles of Valerian extract from her bag. A stool appeared for the little nurse and she set her bag on her lap as she sat. Coughs and rashes and insomniacs lined up for a few minutes of Alice's time, and the night flew by. She turned down payment of all kinds from the soldiers, from chocolate rations to spare cigarettes, asking only that they look after their brothers in arms and take care of themselves.

Dum Dum checked in with her every hour or so, and as the late evening crawled into early morning helped to extract her from the trenches. She slept soundly for the drive back to the 111th, and Dum Dum did his best to keep the ride smooth and quiet.

* * *

 **August 13** **th** **, 1943**

Alice had been trying to perfect the art of fanning one's self while still completing basic tasks, and had yet to get it quite right. Fanning herself the right amount to keep bugs off generally was too vigorous for completing charting, but any slower and the soaring heat of the day crept deeper into her shirt.

Alice hadn't thought she would look forward to another winter on the Western Front, but she was starting to think it might be preferable to the hot, muggy, stinky Summer.

"I'm looking for a Lieutenant Alice Shaw?" Alice glanced up from her paperwork and did a double-take.

"You found her, but you can't bring that big beast in here," she stood, exiting the tent so that the soldier didn't even _think_ about bringing his large companion into her tent.

It was a _horse_. Alice hadn't seen a decent-looking horse since she landed in London, and none had been quite as gorgeous as this one. He was a robust silver-gray, slightly patchy colored like a modern winter camouflage. With only a brief estimation, Alice thought he could be somewhere around the sixteen-hands height; an impressive height for a horse at War.

"Ma'am, I was instructed to bring him to you by my Sergeant." The Private thrust the horse's leaders into her fumbling hands, turned, and jogged away swiftly.

"Excuse me!" Alice cried after his retreating figure. "What am I supposed to do with this?" The horse nibbled at her sleeve. " _Who is your Sergeant_?!"The soldier was long gone.

Alice sighed in defeat. "So where did you come from, hmm?" Alice inspected the saddle and leaders, finding a swastika pressed into the leather. "Oh… well then. Spoils of war and all that..."

Alice gave the horse a quick once-over, checking his teeth, hooves, and general body condition. He was in okay shape – a little on the lean side, but she could fix that. "I bet they only had you on grass, huh buddy? Can't haul big guns on grass alone." He bonked her torso with his huge head, nearly knocking Alice backward. "Yeah, you're a big bad War Horse, I know."

She patted his neck soothingly and spoke softly as she led him in a circle of camp, letting him get used to her voice and her touch. The war horse was a little jittery but responded to normal touch and halter leading with a practiced ease.

"What's your name, buddy?" Alice asked. The horse nickered a little at her specially-sweet horse-voice. "Mmm, that's a good name," Alice agreed. "I need one in a people-language, though."

"Svaðilfari?" she tried. "Gulltoppr?" The horse looked indifferent. "You're right," she agreed. "You're more of a Grani." Alice pulled his head down, pressed her forehead against his and breathing into his nose. "Grani," she whispered fondly. _"Þú verður dýrðlegur vinur."_

Icelandic felt rough on her tongue after a long absence. She hadn't been in the habit of speaking it often in the home, instead giving preference to learning English without an accent. It had disappointed her mother, who found Icelandic to be a much more descriptive language. However, It felt good, almost right, to be speaking Icelandic to this horse.

" _Fylgja_ ," she called the horse, commanding him to follow her. There would be a bit of a learning curve for the horse, she was certain. Transitioning from receiving commands in German to Icelandic would be an interesting few weeks indeed.

* * *

Contrary to everything that cinema has ever told you, a horse cannot gallop the entire length of the United States in a single night. The heavier a horse, the faster it tires at high speeds, and any horse is going to cover better distances at a trot and occasionally a canter. Sustaining a full gallop for more than a mile requires a specific level of conditioning. Looking back in history, to when horses were used to cover spectacular distances in the Pony Express – _those_ were well-conditioned horses. They were also switched out every ten to fifteen miles to ease the strain.

Alice, with a sixty-mile round trip to cover on a trip to the home of the 107th, could not afford to run her horse too hard. Surprisingly, though, even striking out just as darkness settled over the camp, Alice arrived in just over two hours at the trenches. Not as fast as a gas-powered Jeep, sure, but a hell of a lot faster than walking.

Alice walked Grani over to the little overhang where a Jeep was already parked, dismounting smoothly. "Okay, honey – stay here," she commanded, tying his leads around a thin tree. "I'll get someone to bring you a pail of water, promise."

"Cavalry's here!" The sentry shouted in the darkness as Alice entered the trench. Only a few turns of the maze later Alice was trailing her usual company of soldiers.

"Hey L.T., got any socks to spare tonight?" came one voice.

Without looking, Alice replied "Sure, Anderson," and dug one of her spares from her bulging satchel. The swap was made without ever having to make eye contact, though a few snickering voices made Alice spin abruptly. " _So_ I supposed if I did a full boot-check _right now_ everyone would have perfectly clean and dry socks on?"

The soldiers were silent. Anderson alone failed to wither under her glare. She released the Doom of Damocles from her tone, switching to a much friendlier demeanor. "I imagine Anderson makes a fine example – he ensures that he had the supplies he needs for his personal care, and _asks_ when he needs a little help." Alice nodded to Anderson, and he grinned mildly. "Yes…" she thought out loud. "I think I'll do a boot check. In about an hour, I think."

Alice returned to her original route through the trench, though she lost several trailing soldiers as they rushed to change their socks. Alice laughed under her breath, shaking her head. If threats were what it took to keep amputations at a minimum, she was happy to do it.

Given that it was summer, Alice's workload was a little lighter at the trenches. The sun kept the mud mostly at bay, and frostbite was far on the horizon. Most of the complaints were due to nerves and heat rashes, combined with lice checks. Most of the men nervous about lice had just returned from the 111th and still felt a little itchy all over. Alice was happy to give them a once-over and verify the all-clear; if she had another outbreak it was easier to treat in one man versus a hundred.

A particularly jittery Corporal was sitting down for a check when Dum Dum appeared at her elbow. "You got my present, I see."

Alice didn't look up from her pocket watch as she timed the Corporal's heart rate. "What present?"

"Oh, kinda tall, walks on four hooves…" He made a whinnying noise.

Alice's head snapped around. "That was _you_?"

Dum Dum shrugged even as his mustache twitched up in a satisfied smile. "I just figured maybe you got tired of waiting all night for a Jeep to cruise by." He laughed. "And now the nickname's fitting!"

"I hate you," Alice grumbled.

"Not possible," Dum Dum replied in a sing-song voice.

"Stop chewing coffee grounds and get some sleep; you're fine," she advised the Corporal. He flushed and thanked her, stepping away.

Dum Dum took a seat on the rickety stool in front of Alice. She leveled a cool look at him. "I know you don't have lice – you never take that damn bowler off."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Grows on you, doesn't it?"

"Like a fungus. Do you need something, Dum Dum?"

He nodded. "There's a couple of guys that your dandelion trick didn't work for – they've been eating them like crazy have just been pissing into the wind."

Alice sighed deeply. They'd eaten so many that dandelions' other side effect had kicked in – excessive urination. "I'll bring them back with me to the 111th; we're past easy fixes now. How many men are we talking?"

He ticked them off on his fingers. "Four Privates, a Corporal, and a Sergeant."

Alice chewed on her lower lip. "I can manage that, but they'll need to be dropped off. Give me about an hour head start and send them to the 111th; I'll meet them at triage." She shooed him off her stool. "Now let me finish with these _patient_ men so I can finish my night – and get my _present_ a bucket of water while you're at it."

* * *

A/N: Fun research note – a dum-dum is a type of bullet; kind of a precursor of a hollow-point. I promise we're going to get to the stuff (e.g. Bucky) you are all waiting for NEXT CHAPTER! Bucky was going to be featured here, but he got bumped just a smidge.

Many thanks to my reviewers: TikiKiki, Sanguinary Tide, and a Guest!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	10. The Scourge

"You can't be serious." Thompson leveled a flat look at Alice and her tall companion.

Alice made her saddest puppy eyes. "Just for a little while, until I find something more permanent. You won't even know he's here!"

He sputtered. "Won't even – it's a _horse_ , Alice! How am I supposed to not notice a _horse_ in my triage tent?"

"His name is Grani and he's a sweetheart." Alice patted his gray neck fondly. He nickered a little, and lipped at her sleeve.

Thompson looked at her funny. "Granny? What kind of a name is that for a horse?"

Alice blinked. "It's not – you know what, never mind. I just need you to watch him for the night while I take care of these men from the 107th, and then I'll be back to figure out what to do with him."

Thompson looked at her. Then he looked at the horse. Then he looked back at Alice. He held his hand out for the leaders. "I want coffee."

Alice beamed as she handed him the leads. "I'm headed in that direction right now – I'll be back in just a few."

She jogged through camp, weaving around tent posts and ties, managing to make it to the mess tent without clotheslining herself. The cook was awake, prepping for breakfast, and Alice often wondered if the man was a mutant like herself; he never seemed to be asleep when she came calling.

"Hey Cookie – I'm glad you're awake. Could you rustle up some of your strongest coffee? I mean _strong_?" Alice greeted, pulling out her best pleading look as well.

The burly cook Alice fondly referred to as 'Cookie' was a massive man with arms as thick as her waist, and hairier than some dogs. His brow hung low over his eyes, and his beard obscured most of the bottom half of his face. Alice was sure that his appearance was far from proper military regulation, but no one dared to correct him.

He seemed to like Alice though; probably because she kept the kitchen well-stocked with her wild foraging. "What's'n't for me?" he asked, his gruff voice relatively soft for his size.

Alice sighed dramatically. "Why does everyone _want_ something when I ask for a favor?" Cookie shrugged. Alice spotted an open bin and smiled internally. "How about I bring you some fresh potatoes tomorrow, and I take these sprouted ones off your hands?"

Cookie looked pleased with this trade, and nodded his head at the coffeepot. "Ten minutes." Alice returned a thumbs-up, starting her dig through the potato bin. She carefully examined the tubers, pulling out the green and sprouted potatoes that the cook couldn't use anyway.

"Can't believe the distributors send you food that's already bad…" Alice muttered darkly. "What good is that?"

"Better than nothing," Cookie replied gruffly. He checked the kettle briefly and brushed by Alice. "Told 'em to."

"What?" Alice cried, pausing in her potato picking. "Why? That means we get all the crap stuff!"

Cookie looked at Alice pointedly. She stared back, trying not to blink. Her eyes started to water, and Cookie chuckled as she broke eye contact with some rapid blinking. "I have _you."_

Alice blushed deeply at the compliment. "I might not always be around to forage for you," she added, trying to hide the heat in her face.

Cookie nodded, grunting. "True."

The mess tent fell silent as Alice resumed her potato-picking and Cookie returned his attention to the coffee. Alice shoved her prizes into an empty flour sack and hoisted it over her shoulder. "Thanks for the potatoes."

"Coffee's ready." Cookie unhooked the kettle from the iron structure over the fire, as Alice took a few tin cups and tucked them in the potato sack before accepting a cloth-wrapped handle for the kettle.

"Thanks, Cookie," Alice offered him her warmest smile and his mouth twitched up in his usual semblance of a fond grimace.

"Happy hunting."

* * *

"I assume these are yours," Thompson asked as Alice approached, gesturing with a pen to a group of six soldiers sitting along a bench at triage. He was also pointedly ignoring the funny looks said soldiers were making about the _horse_ also in triage. Grani almost seemed like he was looking over Thompson's shoulder at the paperwork while the stalwart soldier tried to ignore him.

"Sure look like it," Alice agreed, setting down her potato sack to retrieve a tin cup. "Do we have any tents that are fairly empty? This isn't going to be terribly fun."

Thompson checked his charts as Alice poured him a cup of the promised coffee. "Well, the quarantine tent just discharged the last lice patient…"

"Perfect!" she grinned, handing him the cup. The collection of soldiers exchanged nervous looks.

Thompson took a hesitant sip of the exceedingly hot coffee, and his face twitched all over as the sludge passed his lips and he looked like he almost spat it out. "Good God, Alice – is this even still coffee?"

"Just add some water and you'll be fine. Come with me, gentlemen," Alice beckoned to her group as she stole a clipboard from Thompson's desk. She led them through the easiest path in camp; that is, the path that didn't involve crossing over open trenches via thin plywood in the dark of night. They shuffled along like good ducklings, her reputation alone giving them the confidence to let her lead.

"Grab a cot along the left side, fellas," Alice instructed, holding open the flap of the quarantine tent with her elbow, and the half-dozen dirty and dusty soldiers dutifully filed in. Alice used the first tent on the right as a place to dump her sack of potatoes, and found a shelf for the coffee.

Alice collected the names of her charges in order of rank, scribbling in what was fast becoming an illegible shorthand.

"Name?"

"Private Jones, Steven Roger."

"Name?"

"Private Erickson, John Henry, Ma'am."

"Name?"

"Private Small, Richard."

"Name?"

"Private Delaney, David Faust."

"Name?"

"Corporal Flynn, Alex Patrick."

Alice was still scribbling on her clipboard as she approached the last bed. "Name?" she asked.

"Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan."

Alice nearly dropped her clipboard.

* * *

 **Roughly seventy years in the future….**

"There's a name you should try to remember," Cable drawled, slicing an apple with an excessively large knife in the palm of his hand.

"Sure, but get your boots off my table first, you monster," Alice swatted at his feet.

His boots thudded to the floor. "You remember how I told you without Captain America, there's no Winter Soldier?"

Alice nodded, sitting down across from him. "What about it?"

Cable talked around a slice of apple, chewing between words. "The Winter Soldier was first one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who served with Captain America during the War."

Alice shrugged a shoulder. "So… what?"

"So, if you happen to cross paths, make sure you don't fuck anything up." Cable pointed at her with his excessively large knife.

"Please," Alice flopped her hand around. "I'll just avoid him entirely."

Cable raised an eyebrow. "That's a little unrealistic."

"And how would you know?" Alice narrowed her eyes at him.

"None of your damn business," he drawled casually.

Alice glared at him, but Cable was unaffected. "What do I need to know?"

Cable leaned forward across the table. "Barnes will be experimented upon during his time as a Prisoner of War at Azzano, receiving an attempted super-soldier serum. This protects him when he falls from a freight car into a frozen river in 1945, and presumed dead by the U.S. Army."

"So… Barnes just has to make it to Azzano, and he'll be okay after that?" Alice clarified, her mind buzzing with information.

"Yes, but _stay away_ from Azzano. There's no good place for a woman as a Prisoner of War."

Alice stirred her tea thoughtfully. "That doesn't explain the 'Winter Soldier' bit…"

"He's brainwashed and turned into an assassin for the Soviet Union during the Cold War," Cable supplied. "He'll do terrible things with spectacular ease on command, and he'll be rewarded with more torture. It will be the worst life imaginable."

"Ah." Her heart clenched. She averted her eyes. "That must have been a horrible life for him…" she mumbled. "He's born – what, 1916?"

"Seventeen," Cable corrected.

"So he was, what… thirty, when it started? More than half of his life as a brainwashed assassin." She looked up at Cable hopefully. "At least tell me the end was peaceful. Died in his sleep in the late eighties as an old, retired man with a Russian pension or something."

Cable said nothing.

Alice puffed out her cheeks irritably. "Fine, be an asshole."

Cable shook his head. "You don't want more details than that, trust me."

Alice tapped her nails on the mug. "Does it bother you? Knowing everything that's going to happen and not being able to change it?"

Cable was silent for a while, and Alice thought he wouldn't answer her at all. When he did speak, his voice was gentler than she was expecting. "Ghosts follow us all, Sigynsdottir." He sheathed his knife and finished off the apple. "Just keep an eye on the date. Wouldn't want to miss your window; you have a job to do that doesn't involve the Winter Soldier."

* * *

 **August 13** **th** **, 1943**

Alice scrambled to catch the clipboard mid-air. "Sorry," she muttered. "Long night – too much coffee. How are we feeling tonight, Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan?" She hadn't known what he would look like – it wasn't like Cable had appeared on her doorstep with a scrapbook.

He offered a hesitant smile. "Pretty crummy, since you're asking."

"Well, I think I can do something about that." She turned slightly so she could address all six men. "I'm sure it's been a rough few days, and the K-rations haven't helped much with the latrines, yeah?" They nodded. Alice continued, "It's going to be a rough night, but I promise I'll get you in fighting shape as soon as I can."

Alice retrieved a set of six tin cups as she continued to give instructions, pouring the strong coffee. "The latrines are just through the back of the tent," she nodded her head at the rear entrance of the tent. "If you feel the urge, don't wait for permission, just go."

"Is it true, Ma'am?" Her attention was drawn from the pour to Private Small's hopeful face. "Is what true, Private?"

He accepted the cup of coffee. "They say you're magic – a good witch."

Alice smiled kindly and shook her head. "No magic here, just good old-fashioned medicine."

He seemed disappointed, but drank the coffee at Alice's urging. "Drink up, everyone; with any luck this is all it takes to get everything moving again.

"And if it does?" Barnes asked.

Alice jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Latrine is that way – I'll be back in thirty or so to check on you."

Alice left the tent at a slightly faster pace than she intended, but she was certain it was still a reasonable pace for a busy nurse. She needed to get a breath of fresh air and shake off the buzzing sensation that had started to take over her hands. She needed to calm the ringing growing in her ears and the nausea bubbling in her stomach.

Alice hunched over at the waist as a sharp pain stabbed at her stomach, and heaved into a bucket. Her gut clenched again and she heaved once again into the bucket. Her eyes ran from the strain and her nose dribbled a little. Alice spat to clear her mouth and slowly stood straight again.

 _You can do this_ , she chanted in her head. _He's just another patient._

 _A patient you have to keep alive so he can suffer more than any human can bear_ , a dark voice whispered back.

Alice flung her body forward and retched one more time into the bucket. Her hands shook as she gripped the sides, spitting again to clear her mouth.

 _Yeah_ , she agreed with the dark voice. _But I have to._

It hurt her to acknowledge it. It hurt her to acknowledge her place in forging the path towards suffering, towards pain, and towards torture. It sizzled like a smoking coal in her stomach, blackening her insides and leaving her to rot. She would always be able to feel it, like a lingering demon living in her shadow; the taste of complicity.

Alice took a deep breath before righting herself. This time it stuck. She strode slowly across camp as her strength returned, and she rinsed her mouth with some water. She wished it had been a swig of bourbon. She rinsed the thin sheen of sweat from her face and straightened her hair, tucking pieces of her braid back into form.

She was remaking a mask, smoothing the rough edges with sandpaper and repainting vivid colors that had begun to chip away. She did so with the utmost care, ensuring that the façade was perfect beyond all inspection.

 _Ok_ , Alice thought, squaring her shoulders _, let's go._

* * *

The coffee had taken care of Privates Jones, Small, and Delaney in her absence. Alice scratched their names from her clipboard.

 _Three down, three to go._ "You fellas just lay back and try to get some rest, maybe drink some water," she instructed them, and they seemed more than happy to comply.

Alice regretfully decided it was time for the big guns. She retrieved her potato sack and pulled out one of the sprouted potatoes. She carefully trimmed away the shoots with a knife, and cut three thin slivers, each with a distinct green spot, from the potato. She would start with a small dose, _very_ small, and increase as necessary.

"My Ma always told me not to eat green potatoes," Erickson said as he accepted the sliver of potato, the last of her three patients.

"You're about to find out why," Alice replied, retrieving three bedpans from a bin in the corner, just in case. She was intentionally withholding a thorough explanation of the toxins at work, for the soldiers' peace of mind. She watched all three of her remaining patients to ensure they ate the entire wedge.

Alice settled down to wait on a stool just outside the tent. She didn't have long to wait.

Erickson made it to the latrine.

Flynn didn't.

The smell was horrendous.

The sound was worse.

Alice re-entered the tent about fifteen minutes after she had given the first dose of potato, keeping a straight face as she took the very full bedpan to the latrine and poured it out for Flynn. He was red in the face as he passed her, clutching his stomach as he headed for the latrine himself.

Barnes looked on in horror.

Alice washed her hands thoroughly before retrieving the potato. "You must have quite the uncooperative system," Alice mused to Barnes as she cut off another sliver of potato.

"You stay the hell away from me with that thing," he declared, scrambling back against the head his cot.

"Sergeant Barnes," Alice sighed. "This isn't going to get better on its own. I promise after a night of unpleasantness has passed you will feel _much_ better. There's nothing to be scared of here."

"I'd rather eat nails than that potato. And I ain't scared – I've just been watching all these other fellas shit their brains out and I'm telling you I ain't interested."

"That's fine," Alice shrugged, slipping the slice of potato into her apron pocket. "See you in a few days."

Bucky straightened up a bit, brow furrowing. "A few days? What happens in a few days?"

"Hmm? I thought you weren't interested?" Alice quirked an eyebrow.

"Don't try to be a funny dame, now tell me what happens," Barnes warned.

Alice glared. "It's _Lieutenant_ , or _Ma'am_. And in a few days you'll be so stopped up that you'll be vomiting _literal_ shit left and right."

The look of fear and horror that washed over his face made Alice instantly regret her harsh tone. She hadn't meant to strong-arm him, or force-feed him, but she could understand why he must have felt like she was backing him into a corner.

She sighed and shooed Barnes to the far end of the cot so she could sit next to him. "I apologize for trying to frighten you. I'm very concerned about how a limited diet of rations has affected you and your… latrine activities. It is very dangerous over long periods, but I just need you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

He looked suspicious.

Alice sighed, and launched into the detailed explanation she had been avoiding. "Green potatoes contain high concentrations of a toxin called solanine, which is produced when the potato is exposed to sunlight. Solanine poisoning can start as quickly as ten minutes after ingestion when given in high enough doses relative to body weight. Yes, I am poisoning you," Alice confirmed as he opened his mouth to ask, "I am doing it in a very strategic way to prevent you from dying."

Alice held his gaze, trying to _will_ him to trust her. One hand was clutched around his stomach, but the other plucked at his trousers.

"…gimme the damn potato," he murmured.

Alice smiled appreciatively as she handed him the potato wedge. He hesitated, and Alice held it closer. Bucky groaned, accepting the slice of green potato. "You're not a witch, you're the goddamn Devil."

Alice squeezed his shoulder in comfort.

They waited together.

* * *

A/N: Well, it took TEN chapters, but they've finally met! I always knew that I wanted to establish Alice as a well-rounded PERSON before I introduced her to Bucky, but the method of introduction kept getting pushed back. My husband (being a military vet himself) was the one who suggested they meet under these… unflattering circumstances. I have NEVER in all of my fanfic reading EVER seen pairings meet like this. NEVER.

I hope you all loved it. I also can't begin to describe how much stalling went into this chapter.

Don't eat green potatoes.

Also – Cable is an information-withholding asshole. Does anyone think this _might_ be problematic later?

Many thanks to my reviewers, it's what keeps me writing: WonderLoki, Guest, and Sanguinary Tide!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!** (Chapters come out a lot faster if I keep getting notifications from the website that people like it enough to comment)


	11. Riding the Thunder

**August 15** **th** **, 1943, 0300**

It was late, but nature was calling. Bucky stumbled out of his tent into the moonlit night rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had been running to the latrine every hour or so, finally tapering off when he seemed to run empty from stem to stern. It was almost a relief.

The 111th was a lot quieter than the trench. Even rotating from front to rear lines, there was always a little thunder rumbling through the ground. Here though, here he could hear the night-birds, and the wind running through the canvas city.

A flicker of movement across the road caught his attention, and he changed paths through the camp as curiosity overrode a mild biological urge. He meandered at an easy pace through the aisles, trying to get a solid look at the movement that had caught his attention.

His curiosity took him to the edge of camp, and the triage tent where he had first arrived. The triage medic, Thompson, would glance up every so often into the field across the road, but seemed generally occupied with his paperwork.

"What's going on over there?" Bucky asked him, nodding towards the field.

"Evening, son," he greeted. "That's just Nurse Shaw, don't mind her."

Without the barrier of several canvas tents in the way, Bucky could finally get a good look at the figures moving in the grassy field. One object vastly larger than the other, a huge gray horse stood with the relatively familiar figure of the smaller Nurse Shaw. The moonlight glowed against the horse's soft gray flanks, and lit up the little nurse's white-blonde hair. Bucky watched from a distance as she cooed to the huge horse, pressing her face against his forehead.

She took a few steps back, and whistled. The whistle involved a complicated tuck of her bottom lip and her teeth, trilling in a way Bucky was sure he would never be able to replicate. The horse trotted dutifully forward to meet her, and Nurse Shaw rewarded him with a carrot and a pet on the nose.

She took several more steps back, whistle again. The horse cantered the difference between them, catching the carrot as she tossed it, laughing.

Bucky crossed his arms and leaned to one side, tilting his head in confusion. "Isn't she a nurse? What's she training a horse for?"

Thompson didn't look up, shuffling his papers. "When I ask questions I get asked for favors." Thompson tapped the stack on the table to straighten the pile. "So I don't ask questions."

The pair had made it clear across the field together one canter at a time, and Bucky watched as Nurse Shaw jogged back the full length of the field. She crouched low in the grasses and he lost sight of her entirely, but he could hear the clear clarion call of that whistle.

The horse did too. He charged across the field, and as he approached where the nurse had disappeared Bucky stepped forward – would the horse trample her to death?

But she leapt from the grasses, throwing the carrot behind her to encourage the horse to stay at speed, and somehow managed to hook her foot in a stirrup and seize the reins at the same time. She snapped them as she slung her leg over the horse to sit high in the saddle, and the beast took off at full charge into the woods.

A chime of laughter drifted through the air, like acoustic fairy lights, vanishing into the serene silence of night.

 _Wow._

"She got a fella?" Bucky asked, crossing his arms.

"Not that I know of," Thompson answered idly, but at the silence that followed he snapped his head up, eyes wide. " _No_ – don't even think about it. Alice Shaw is two shots of trouble on an empty stomach."

"What? I didn't say I wanted to marry the dame," Bucky defended. "Why, you sweet on her or something?"

Thompson snorted in amusement. "I'm already married. Sure as hell wouldn't be interested in trouble like that, either way."

Bucky's shoulders tensed as he felt a thunder run through the bottoms of his shoes, growing louder with each beating pace. His head whipped around to identify the source and he relaxed as he saw Nurse Shaw emerge from the forest, riding the thunder.

* * *

Grani took a few strides to find his rhythm. Alice could feel his breath beneath her; a steady churn of a freight train finding its teeth on the rails. His hooves tore into the soil as he charged forward at a speed near enough to race lightning.

It was all Alice could do just to stay in the saddle and duck under the branches overhead. She tugged lightly on the reins and marveled at his responsiveness. They burst from the tree line and onto the road, Alice leading Grani back towards triage.

Alice's head filled with questions as she saw who was talking to Thompson. Sergeant Barnes smiled and waved as she approached, Grani's hooves eating up the dirt road. Thompson shook his head – somehow the more curious of the two actions.

"Sergeant Barnes? Are you feeling alright?" she asked, swiftly dismounting.

"What, me? Oh I'm swell, doll." He tilted his head back, smiling, as if his charm alone usually worked wonders for him.

"Wouldn't do that…" Thompson muttered under his breath as Alice's eye twitched.

Her tone was sharp. "It's _Lieutenant,_ Sergeant Barnes. _Ma'am_ , if that's too difficult for you." The Sergeant's face lost some of its smooth charm as Alice brushed past him, leading Grani into the back of the triage tent. Thompson didn't bat an eye.

"You owe me coffee in the morning, Alice," he declared without looking.

"He doesn't have to call you Lieutenant?" Bucky asked, pointing an accusing finger.

"I like him the best," Alice replied, squeezing Thompson's shoulder as she passed. Annoyingly, Barnes followed her.

"But-" Barnes interjected, and Alice had to resist the strong, _strong_ urge to roll her eyes, "Don't you get tired of the formality? I mean, you're _clearly_ not on-duty right now. In fact," Alice turned to glare as she heard a smug tone creep into his voice. "I'm fairly certain that nurses don't ride horses in the middle of the night."

Alice ground her teeth for a moment, and then smiled sweetly. " _Sergeant_ Barnes." Her voice dripped with honey and it appropriately put the tension back in Barnes' shoulders. "Do you think it _wise_ to even _hint_ at threatening the nurse who poisoned you on purpose not so long ago?"

"I'm just trying to be friendly," he offered somewhat meekly.

"You think you could do it in a less creepy way?" Alice let her smile develop into something more heartfelt. "You should get some rest. You've had a long couple of nights." She passed him, headed for the nurse's tent to get an hour or two of sleep.

"Lieutenant?" His tone was sincere, so Alice graced it by turning to face him one last time. He was smiling, his hands in his pockets, chin slightly lifted.

"Yes?" Alice replied expectantly.

"Never mind." He shook his head. "Have a good night, ma'am."

Alice paused, shrugged, and waved a lazy hand.

* * *

A/N: short chapter here, but I felt it deserved its own space. Bucky is first intrigued by Alice.

Woohoo, fast update!

Many thanks to my reviewers: Sanguinary Tide, Mia (guest), I'm a leaf in the wind, WonderLoki, and TikiKiki.

 **PLEASE REVIEW**!


	12. Marry Me

**August 15** **th** **, 1943**

Alice yawned and ran fingers through her tangled hair. _Two whole hours of sleep, what a luxury_ , she thought.

"You really should be dead by now," Joanna chastised, grabbing a brush and attacking Alice's hair without prompting.

"Why is that?" Alice asked around another yawn, so it sounded more like _whooiisthaa_.

Joanna turned Alice's head to brush a different section. "I mean you might as well be a part-time soldier with the 107th. I'm quite certain you aren't getting enough sleep to keep a bird alive for more than a few days."

"True – but more importantly, could you tell me why you're attacking my head?" Alice winced as Joanna yanked on a stubborn knot with the brush.

Joanna _tsked_ disapprovingly. "I'm being _kind_ – there's a war photographer coming through today and if he happens to take some photographs of the nurses I would appreciate all of us looking presentable."

"Sure, that's swell," Alice agreed, resolutely deciding to put at least two tents between her and the photographer at all times.

Ingrid walked into the tent and flopped face-down on her cot without so much as a 'hello'. Alice and Joanna shared a look.

"Hey honey," Alice crooned. "Long night?"

Ingrid moaned into her pillow.

"I thought it was a quiet night," Alice hissed to Joanna.

"It was," Joanna whispered back. "She got a letter from home."

"Oh?" Alice asked.

Joanna nodded slowly, widening her eyes with implied meaning.

" _Oh_ ," Alice realized.

"And I don't want to talk about it!" Ingrid shouted across the tent, making both of them jump. "He's a rotten cheater and a coward!"

"Of course he is, honey," Joanna swept across the tent to pay Ingrid's head lovingly, still holding the hairbrush in one hand.

"Why aren't you that nice to me?" Alice whined.

Joanna shot her a look. "Because you're insufferable – now let me finish your hair so you don't look like a wild-woman."

Alice hissed darkly.

Joanna was unmoved.

* * *

Alice had to try very hard to resist the urge to pull her hair out of its complicated style until she was at least out of Joanna's field of vision. It wasn't as though she disliked tradition 1940's pinup styles, she just felt ridiculous when they were on _her_. _Try to stay nice for at least an hour_ , Joanna had warned Alice.

Alice stretched her legs as she did a tour around camp, checking in with patients and sharing cordial morning greetings. A relatively quiet morning at the 111th seemed to be in store, she hoped.

A low cooking fire was burning next to the mess tent as Alice approached, seeking coffee for Thompson (and herself, of course). Tension built in her shoulders as scattered pieces of the conversation caught her attention, cutting through the low thrum of the heartbeat of the 111th.

One very clean soldier was seated on a stool, disassembling his garand rifle while clearly preaching to a very disinterested crowd. It was an almost cartoonish picture, as his uniform had seen very little use, while the lower-ranked soldiers held captive by his status were tinted in shades of mud and blood.

Alice could read the bored animosity in their faces from a hundred yards away. A few postures straightened as she approached, and eyes lifted. "Lieutenant Dickerson, can I help you?" Alice asked, her tone a smidge chilled.

She was familiar with the First Lieutenant. He had arrived the day prior on my way out to the front lines and no one could seem to get rid of him. He got along swimmingly with Dr. Fletcher – the only person who could truly evict him from the Field Hospital – although Alice suspected that this demonstration preceded his departure later in the day.

He shot her what she was sure was usually a lady-killing grin. "Just showing these men how to load their Garands a little faster, sweet thing. And it's _First_ Lieutenant, if you don't mind."

Alice was immune. _If I could punch you in the face, I absolutely would._

Alice watched as he demonstrated loading the M-1 again and a smile quirked at her lips. _Never mind._ "Of course, Sir – should I get you something to drink?"

His teeth nearly sparkled as his smile broadened. "That'd be swell, sweetheart." A few nervous glances were shared among the First Lieutenant's captive audience.

Alice ground her teeth together, forcing the smile to stay adhered to her face.

"Do you think anyone would notice if I poisoned Dickerson?" Alice asked Cookie, pouring coffee into three tin cups.

He shrugged. "Probably."

Alice sighed in agreement. "Do you at least know if he's leaving soon?"

"O-nine hundred. The 86th."

 _Thank the stars._

* * *

Alice had tried to behave, but after the promised hour her hair was yanked into a braid and tucked up under a standard cap. She had absolutely _no idea_ how Joanna could stand curls falling into her eyes while she was working.

She was so absorbed in re-wrapping a bandage, laughing and gasping along with the patient's funny story, that she failed to hear the click of a camera lens not too far away.

"Excuse me, Miss?" the photographer reached for the arm of the nurse walking past him – a tall, dark-haired woman with hair perfectly pressed and a violent red lipstick.

"Yes? Can I help you with anything?" she asked sweetly.

He pointed subtly across the open field to Alice. "Could you tell me her name – I don't want to bother her when she's busy."

The nurse followed his point, a wry grin slipping through her kind expression. "Oh – that's Alice Shaw; she's with the 107th."

The photographer scribbled it down dutifully. "Thank you, miss – I'd love to take a photo of all the nurses at some point soon. Miss…?"

"Joanna Quill. I'll make sure it happens for you."

* * *

Alice wrung her hands as the photographer held up a hand – the light was _perfect_ he had declared, rounding up all of the nurses for a group photo during shift swap. Alice didn't want to be in the photo – _any_ photos in fact, but Joanna had fixed her with a blazing glare that had indicated she had precisely _no_ choice in the matter.

All four nurses were sitting on a felled log, waiting for the photographer to finish a countdown when she heard it. Alice could hear the screaming before she could hear the truck's engine. Alice leapt up from her seat and dashed towards the med tent, ignoring Joanna's indignant shout.

She snatched a satchel from the post-hook and raced at top speed to Triage. She could hear the truck's engine now as it lumbered at curiously slow speed around the bend in the road – it beat Alice to Triage by only a few seconds.

Thompson stood, clipboard in hand, staring blankly into the truck's bed as Alice jogged to a stop. _Gods, if it stunned Thompson_ … Alice uttered a short prayer and joined him. Alice froze as she turned and saw into the truck's interior.

Her brain completely stopped as she tried to process the information.

Lieutenant Dickerson was screaming at the top of his lungs in the truck bed, his thumb caught in the bolt of his M-1 Garand, having slammed home on the digit while loading, for sure.

 _What._

 _A._

 _Baby._

The soldiers in the truck with him were silent, their faces the picture of bland innocence. "Fellas," Alice greeted coolly. "Long ride?"

They nodded, heads bobbing all around. "Yes, Ma'am. Hit a lot of potholes, too."

" _Do something already!_ " Dickerson screamed. _"Can't you see I'm in agony!?"_

"Of course, Lieutenant." Alice pulled back swiftly on the bolt of the M-1 Garand, releasing Dickerson's thumb. He screeched like a banshee and Alice resisted the urge to slap him across the face. "Nurse Hill will be happy to wrap that up for you," she said calmly. "Just as soon as you've been processed."

" _Why can't you just do it now!?_ " He screeched. " _I'm dying!"_

"I'm off for the night," Alice replied coolly.

Dickerson screeched obscenities as he was calmly instructed by Thompson that no, he wasn't going to load Dickerson on a stretcher, he was going to have to walk himself to Triage. He all but spat in Alice's face as she watched him go.

The other soldiers in the bed greeted Alice warmly with a series of "ma'am", and "good to see you, Miss Shaw", "Heya, L.T.", depending on her level of familiarity with each soldier. She checked in with them individually, but given that they had left only a few hours prior they had no complaints for her to address.

Alice wandered around the truck to tell the driver where to park the Jeep, and his face looked terribly familiar. Alice gave the driver a long look as he smiled. "Do I know you?"

He tipped his cap. "Yes ma'am; Private John Donovan."

Ah yes – the first snowflake in a giant snowball of interference. "How's the shoulder?"

He seemed happy she remembered him. "Much better, ma'am; thank you."

Alice tucked her hands into her apron pockets. "Did you even make it to the 86th?"

"No, ma'am. The First Lieutenant was gracing us with another demonstration when he had his accident."

Alice shook her head, laughing to herself. "Wow. Ok – pull the truck around there to park it for a little while. You're welcome to join us for supper tonight."

* * *

 **August 16** **th** **, 1943**

Alice gave herself plenty of time in the morning to get coffee, drink said coffee, and do a nearly full set of rounds before she went to check on the dainty First Lieutenant Dickerson.

Alice checked the clipboard as she approached Dickerson, avoiding what she could almost guarantee was a poisonous glare. "Good morning, Sir. Are we feeling better today? I understand you're headed back out to the 86th in a few hours."

"No thanks to you," he murmured darkly.

"As a part of ensuring your ongoing care, Nurse Hill asked me to provide you with guidance on how to prevent this injury from occurring again." Before he could protest or ask for clarification, Alice seized his Garand rifle from where it rested at his side, clearing the ammunition box and setting it on her lap.

"When loading the Garand, you need to ensure that the bolt is fully locked away." Alice tilted the rifle to show Dickerson. "When that little bit is sticking out, the bolt isn't locked; it's hung up on the follower, which can happen if it's not greased properly." She released it, and Dickerson flinched as it slammed home.

A familiar face walked past the opening of the tent, managed to catch a glimpse of Alice from the corner of his eye, and reversed his direction. He waved once, cheerily, and eyebrow quirked up to vanish under his bowler hat in a combination of curiosity and confusion at Alice's half-completed demonstration.

Alice offered a half smile as she continued – half for Dum Dum, half for herself. "Now – watch carefully." She slid the bolt back again, locking it properly and tilting it for Dickerson to see. "See how the box is clear? That's ready to load." She picked up the ammunition case and slid it in. "With the bolt secured, the rounds prevent your thumb from getting caught."

To her everlasting surprise, Dickerson seemed attentive through the demonstration, having leaned forward to inspect her work carefully. Alice removed the ammunition box again – for safety's sake – and handed him back his rifle. "Thank you, Ma'am." He actually managed to sound sincere.

"Stay safe," Alice replied, leaving to join Dum Dum who was still watching appreciatively from the entrance.

"What do you want?" she asked, hanging up the clipboard on a nail.

"Marry me," Dugan sighed dreamily, a teasing grin on his face.

"Get in line," Alice replied. "You here to take your boys back?"

"Whoever's ready."

Alice thought for a second – she wasn't happy with the stability of two of her patients, but there were four that were ready to go back in action. "You can take all but Flynn and Barnes."

"Thanks, L.T." He clapped her on the shoulder firmly, rattling Alice's teeth.

"No presents today?" Alice asked hopefully.

He thought to himself, stroking his mustache. "I think I've been spoiling you, actually. Thought I might hold off."

Alice pouted, and Dum Dum laughed. "Kidding, kidding– there's some more apples for you in the Jeep."

Alice whooped for joy, and Dum Dum laughed harder.

* * *

A/N: Garand Thumb is a pretty minor injury, more akin to slamming your finger in the car door. Can require a few stitches if you're really unlucky.

ALSO – now we know why the first photo of Alice says "107th" on the back – gee, thanks, Jojo. AND why she's just barely out of frame for the photo of the 111th nurses.

TWO CHAPTERS IN TWO DAYS – Y'ALL ARE BEING SO SPOILED.

Many thanks to my reviewers: WonderLoki and Sanguinary Tide!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	13. In the Moonlight

**August 17, 1943**

Bucky was bored as bored could be sitting around the 111th. He had stopped shitting his guts out and everything had settled down, but no one seemed willing to let him leave just yet – so there he was, peeling potatoes in the twilight like a damn Private.

It was tedious work, though it seemed to put him in the cook's good graces, and he got a slightly better portion at mealtimes. It had the added and unexpected benefit of putting him in the path of one mysterious Nurse Alice Shaw.

She would glance at him idly but generally paid him no mind as she swept in with a pail full of vegetables, the tubers and fruits still dusted with mud, and conversed in low tones with the cook. The burly man reserved his warmest smile for the little nurse, and her cold, dark eyes seemed to warm in reply.

Just thinking about her seemed too much of a distraction – even with the nurse having been absent many hours – as the peeler slipped in his hand and he cut deep into his palm.

Blood blossomed instantly like a violent flower bearing instant fruit. "Ah, _shit,"_ Bucky swore, clamping down on his bleeding hand.

He tried not to drip blood into the bucket of peeled potatoes, and the cook glanced over at him. "Nurse," he commanded gruffly, pointing out of the mess tent.

"Yeah, sure," Bucky agreed. He wrapped his hand in a dishcloth to try and keep it just a little sealed, and jogged across camp as darkness fell across the open field.

The nurses seemed to have taken over the entrance of one of the tents as a sort of office, and one could usually find them checking forms or inventory at any hour, as long as they weren't too swamped with patients.

Given that he had seen Alice working all day, Bucky had no doubt that she was in their "office" – the woman never seemed to sleep; she was always with a patient, or running around in the dark with her huge silver war horse.

Bucky knocked on the tent support before lifting the flap up. "Hey, doll-" but stopped speaking as soon as he saw the little nurse. _Well call me Whistle_ Dixie, he thought to himself. Alice had fallen dead asleep at her makeshift desk, head down on a stack of papers. A light snore drifted through the tent and Bucky smirked.

He snuck around her, and seized a tin from the shelf over her head that was conveniently labeled _Bandages_. He took a fair handful and – as an afterthought – scribbled an IOU and put it in the tin. He was sure he could find another nurse – Hill, maybe – to help him replace the missing bandages before Alice noticed.

He pressed the wad tightly against his hand to staunch the bleeding, and wrapped the dirty dishcloth around that. _Swell; good to go._

Bucky looked down at the nurse again as he moved to exit. Her face was more relaxed as she slept, and the frustrated frown smoothed away into fine porcelain skin. She seemed immune to the rough sun of the Western Front – never tanning a shade, just like the moonlight she rode through during the night.

Her hair had slipped down over her cheek, and seemed to be tickling her nose. Bucky thought about sweeping it back from her face, but only briefly.

He thought about it.

He left her alone in the tent to enjoy some much-needed rest instead.

* * *

Early in the morning, mud was always first thing on the menu. Good Western mud nearly stuck to the sides of the tin, put hair on your chest and a twitch in the hands. That was the right amount of caffeine for an American soldier. Bucky was well into his second cup – courtesy of the cook – when everything went sideways.

The conversational level around the fire was low – it was early, still, and the men were just starting to wake up. Bucky should have realized when he saw Nurses Hill and Potter that they were turning over shifts, and-

" _Sergeant Barnes_."

Alice didn't need to raise her voice to yell, Bucky realized. He flinched, trying to sink lower in his seat which did little good when the soldiers around him turned to stare.

"What did you do?" Private Riley hissed.

"Nothing!" Bucky hissed back.

The crowd parted without command for Alice, as none wanted to be on the receiving end of that sharp, furious tongue-lashing. Her eyes blazed with fury – and impressive feat when they seemed to eat up all the light around them. "James _Buchanan_ Barnes, what exactly do you think you're doing?"

He stopped trying to hide behind his coffee and instead tried to offer a cajoling smile at the small woman but it appeared to do precisely _nothing_. "Hi-de-ho, Lieutenant! Just getting some good mud."

She held up an empty canister, lifted one eyebrow, and his stomach dropped. "What belongs in this canister, Sergeant?" she asked calmly.

"Bandages?" It was stated as a question, but he hoped she didn't really know.

Her expression didn't change. She definitely knew. "And what did you take from this canister last night without seeking further medical care for what seems to be a substantial injury, given the number of medical supplies required?"

"Bandages," he confirmed again.

She nodded. "And what do you imagine I thought I might find in this canister instead of the note reading _IOU?_ "

"…bandages." His voice was very quiet. Someone sniggered in the crowd.

"You're damn right, _bandages_." She crooked a finger at him. "Come with me, Sergeant."

Bucky followed dutifully, his head hanging a little as he avoided the snickers that followed him – men who simply hadn't been chastised themselves as of late.

She wove through the tents easily, her long braid whipping like a fish's tail as she made sharp turns in the maze of tents. She held a tent flap open for Bucky and he found himself in the same office he had left only a short night before.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to a vacant cot in the corner.

He sat.

She washed her hands in the bin, taking excessive care to clean under her fingernails as always. She turned to him, and he flinched. "Now – where are you hurt?" Her voice was soft, concerned, and completely drained of fire.

Bucky looked up at her – the fury was gone from her face. "It's nothing, doll – just a few more scars for the ladies- _ow!_ " he yelped as Alice smacked his shoulder. Bucky leaned away from her. "What'd you do that for?"

"Don't be smart with me." Alice pulled him back by his shirt and yanked the sleeve up, exposing the poorly bandaged hand. "I want you to wake me up if I fall asleep on my shift and you need medical attention. Every time."

"Not if you're gonna beat the living daylights out of me," Bucky grumbled, picking at the rough canvas of the cot.

" _Bucky_ ," she pressed, startling him with the use of his nickname, and he looked up at her face again, and found new details impossible to miss with the proximity.

She broke the intense stare by directing her attention to his injured hand. "It was careless of me to fall asleep. You are more important than a handful of bandages, and I don't want you to feel like you can't get the help you need. Promise me you'll wake me next time."

Bucky sat there, his mouth slightly open in surprise. "Promise me?" Alice asked again.

He nodded. "Yeah, sure, doll."

Alice seemed satisfied, cleaning the smeared, dried blood from around the mess of gauze he'd pressed there.

"You called me Bucky." A grin wormed its way across his face.

She rolled her eyes. "A mistake on my part, clearly."

"Yes, Ma'am." But Bucky couldn't wipe the last of the smile from his face as she cleaned and properly bandaged his hand, no matter how many exasperated sighs she let fly.

* * *

It was more of a gut feeling than any true logic that woke Bucky in the middle of the night. He lay awake, staring at the inside of the tent and pulling gently on the edge of the bandages around his hand. They were wrapped pretty snugly, but not so tight that they hurt. They were just right.

He had a feeling that Alice was in the fields. He didn't know what gave him that feeling besides the fact he had seen her out there on multiple nights. He couldn't figure her out, even with all the moments he'd stolen of her time, or caught glances of her in the moonlight.

He slipped from his cot, lacing up his boots and shrugging on his jacket for good measure. The autumn chill was threatening to come early, as if there wasn't enough to be sorry about in the trenches. No one seemed to notice his exit from the tent, so Bucky worked his way to the edge of camp, just within sight of Triage, and waited.

It was like waiting for Faeries, just like his Ma and Grandma used to tell him when he was just a kid. They would sit at the window and look out over the empty lots with all the lights off – never mind that all the other apartments were lit up – and wait for the fae lights.

He stood completely silently, barely in the shadow of a tent, but with enough of a clear path to see _her_ emerge. Alice stood out in the moonlight, though not as clearly now the Moon was waning, and she glanced from side to side, looking for watchful eyes.

 _You're really terrible at this, doll_ , Bucky thought to himself as she missed seeing him entirely, crossing the road at a light jog. She didn't bring her horse with her, he noted, just a small canvas bag and a set of scissors that glittered like silver in the moonlight.

Her head dipped up and down through the grasses, and she appeared to be searching for something. The grasses dipped and stood as she brushed them from side to side, moving through the grassy field like a ship through their waves.

Bucky timed his approach as she crouched low again, swiftly closing the distance between them in his quietest stalk, moving smoothly across the uneven terrain. Bucky caught up just as she rose again, and thankfully her back was to him.

He straightened his spine, straightened his jacket a little, and cleared his throat.

The nurse froze, her shoulders flinching up almost to her ears.

"What are you up to?" Bucky asked. The nurse turned with a whirl, face bright scarlet.

"Sergeant Barnes! Hello!" Alice spoke a little too loudly. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Bucky tucked his hands into his pockets and cocked his head to the side. "You sneaking off, doll?"

"Just to find some plants," she tried to explain, though it didn't make any sense to Bucky.

Bucky frowned. "What for?"

She flushed a deeper red. "For cleaning my hair."

Bucky laughed, but Alice didn't; she was serious. "You can clean hair with plants?" he asked, amazed.

"Soapwort and Marshmallow, yes." She glanced at the field briefly. "I thought I saw some a day or so ago, but it's harder to find in the dark."

Bucky tipped his head back, looking down his nose at her. "You made those up."

She whirled back, her eyes filled with indignant fury. "No I didn't!" Alice steamed.

He smirked. "Prove it."

The little nurse was scowling again. "I need to find them first – so I'm going to go now."

Bucky thought about it. "Only if you let me come with you."

Alice rolled her eyes. "It's perfectly safe, Sergeant. I'll be fine."

Bucky nodded, as if considering it further. "If you leave this camp without a guard, I'm calling the Captain – Dr. Fletcher, I think he is?"

Alice's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna find out?" he retorted.

" _You -_ " She pointed an angry finger at him, her hand shaking with rage. She bit her lip fiercely to keep from swearing, it seemed. _"You-"_ she tried again, but couldn't finish.

Bucky knew he had her beat this time, so he just waited.

"Make yourself useful," she grumbled finally, and shoved the canvas bag into his hands.

"Swell," he replied with a cheeky grin. "What are we looking for?"

She made a little sphere shape with her hands, the eyes of the scissors swinging around the back of her hand. "A little plant with a kind of bulb of little purple flowers – that's Soapwort."

Bucky nodded like he understood, but ended up just following Alice after pointing out several plants that were evidently _not_ what she was looking for. _That's just mint_ , she replied once with a laugh. _Chew on some – maybe it'll fix that foul mouth of yours._ He liked her sense of humor – sharp comebacks came easily to her. She laughed openly when he offered her a sprig of fresh mint as well, and surprisingly accepted it, chewing on it like some men chewed tobacco.

"So sugar, are you rationed?" He asked casually after an hour or so of plant-hunting.

She shot him a confused look, her hands pausing around the flowering head of a plant. "I don't know what that means," she replied.

"What kind of funny city you come from that doesn't have rationing – I mean do you have a _fella_ back home?" Bucky clarified with a charming smile. The nurse seemed immune to his charm, which just made her that much more interesting. Sure, Nurses always got all the attention at camps, and usually had their pick of a date every night – no harm in that – but Alice almost seemed to avoid it.

She rubbed her thumb against her pointer finger in an absent motion. "Just a few horses and a barn cat," she replied. "That's more than enough for – _ah hah!_ " she cried suddenly, and hopped a few feet to her left. "This is it!" she declared with some joy, spinning the scissors on her first two fingers.

"You aren't like most dames I know," Bucky said, holding the canvas bag open as she dropped several large clippings into the bag.

Alice snorted, not looking up from her task with the large scissors. "That line usually work for you? You aren't like most men, Sergeant Barnes. Most men are smart enough to leave me alone the first time I ask."

Alice moved away from the plant, wandering to the rear of the field where Bucky could hear a stream trickling past. She kept her eyes trained on the ground, and Bucky kept his eyes trained on Alice. "What are you looking for now?" he asked.

"Marshmallow," she replied idly. "It grows near water – big purple flowers that look kind of like Hawaii's tropical flowers."

"Wow – you've been to Hawaii?" he asked, his interest further piqued.

She shook her head. "Always meant to, but I've seen pictures. I liked California, though." Her neck straightened as she spotted her plant, and she waved for Bucky to follow.

He frowned as she dug her hands into the wet earth around the bottom of the plant, pulling up the big taproom with her tiny hands and brushing the dirt off.

"Why didn't you pull the other one up?" he asked, accepting a handful of dirty roots.

"The whole Soapwort plant works, but I want it to grow back from the root – with marshmallow, you just want the root." She shrugged. "I'll just have to keep an eye on this area next year and hope it comes back."

Bucky laughed. "Oh, doll, we're not gonna be here next year; we're gonna lick the Germans by then."

"Oh, yeah," she agreed, but her face was somber.

* * *

Alice didn't seem to bother sneaking into camp at all, just greeted Thompson at Triage like she was casually coming back from market, and he waved idly at her. S _he could probably get away with murder_ , Bucky thought, _the guy'd just thank her for getting rid of the fly with her knife._

He watched, somewhat fascinated, as she shredded the marshmallow root into one tin pot and pulled leaves and flowers from the other plant, dumping them in the same pot with the shredded root. She stabbed them a little with a wooden spoon, then seemed satisfied. "Come on then," she beckoned, standing. "If you're going to insist on watching, I'm headed to the mess to use Cookie's fire."

He followed, asking the occasional question as she added water, set the pot over the fire with Cookie's permission, and listened intently to her answers.

What makes the plants work like soap?

 _Saponins and mucilage_.

Why boil them?

 _Releases the Saponins and the mucilage from the plant._

Why not just use bar soap?

 _Because I'm not a piece of laundry._

The burly cook that Alice called _Cookie_ seemed amused by their back-and-forth, though Alice seemed to be growing annoyed. Bucky redirected his attention to give her a break, looking around the confines of the mess's prep area. "What is all of this junk? You've got like a dozen packs of cards in here," he asked, digging his hand through a bin to his left.

Alice glanced over, leaning one way to see into the bin. "Some leftovers from the Red Cross from Christmas, I think. Help yourself." Bucky pocketed a pack of cards – always a good way to pass the time. His last deck had suffered the unfortunate fate of being stained beyond recognition in the mud.

Alice only boiled her weird plant soup for a few long minutes, then took it off the fire, snagging a clean cloth and thanking the cook with a kind word. He nodded, and slipped something into the pocket of Alice's apron with a murmured word Bucky didn't catch. She scowled at the cook, but didn't try to give it back.

"C'mon, you," she called to Bucky, and he followed her out of the mess again to the little circle of felled logs around the soldiers' morning coffee fire. The fire was out now, but in a short time someone would be along to get it started before morning roll call – sunrise was only an hour or so away, and the horizon was starting to lighten.

"Hold this," Alice handed him a glass bottle, and stretched the clean cloth over its mouth. "Don't drop it," she warned, and poured the hot pasty liquid through it – straining the plant mush from the gold-tinted water. Bucky held it steady, not complaining a moment as the glass grew nearly uncomfortably hot in his hands.

Alice took it swiftly after, setting it on the ground between her feet and wringing every last golden drop from the paste before tossing the paste itself into a small glass jar. She stoppered and examined the bottle, seemingly satisfied. "That's it," she declared, handing him the bottle to see for himself.

"That's it?" he asked, holding it up. "I don't think this really works as well as soap would," Bucky said dubiously.

Alice rolled her eyes. "I assure you it does."

He nodded, then thought out load. "Well – you could let me use some; just to test it for you."

"You'd need the whole bottle to get that mess clean." She must have seen the argument – or the threat – brewing in Bucky's mind, because she sighed deeply and wearily. "Sit over there – I'll do it for you."

He didn't need to be told twice – it had been an _age_ since he got a proper wash. He sat in front of Alice and took a little towel she gave him to put over his shoulders, and leaned to each side as she instructed.

The soap smelled nice when she un-stoppered the bottle and lathered it in her hands, but the best part was when Alice started to massage the soap in, running her fingers through his hair to pull out little tangles and fluff up the soap. Bucky let himself relax as Alice raked her fingers against his scalp, carefully pouring very small amounts of her weird Witch Brew over his hair as needed, massaging it in, and rinsing away with lukewarm water. His scalp tingled a bit as the nurse ran her fingers through his hair. "I don't know how you managed to avoid getting lice with hair like this," she mused quietly.

Bucky chuckled and Alice paused a moment. "With hair like this you'd have to shave it off to get rid of 'em, so I made sure to keep clean." He shuddered as she rinsed his head with a swift rush of ice-cold water, but she mediated it quickly by taking the towel from around his neck and shoulders and tousling his head dry.

"There you go – all clean," she declared, folding the towel in her lap.

"Hey, thanks." Bucky stood and ran a hand through his hair and found it – while still damp – much easier to get his hands through. He also had a lingering smell of the plants Alice had used. A stray thought flickered through his head, and he wondered if he leaned closer, would Alice have a similar perfume, or did she use the real French stuff like the other nurses?

They shared a quiet moment, and Alice didn't seem to know what to say. Bucky didn't either. She was still seated on the felled log, and she looked so small; just a little nurse with a few odds and ends, sitting around a dead fire with an odd fella.

"You should be all set to go back out in the afternoon," Alice said softly, her eyes fell to focus on the towel in her lap. "Back to the 107th, I mean."

"Sure," Bucky agreed.

Alice stood slowly and Bucky stepped forward to offer a hand – he knew she didn't need his help, but it was the gentlemanly thing to do – but the motion surprised her and she actually stumbled a little as he suddenly appeared in her view. Bucky caught her arm to keep her from falling backwards as she clutched the towel and her bottle of soap. "Wouldn't want you to drop that," he grinned, nodding down to the bottle.

"Oh," she breathed, looking down also. "Thank you."

He let go, and as she moved away he could still feel the texture of her shirt on his hand. Soft. He would bet good money that she washed her clothes in some plant-soap, too; nobody had clothes that soft.

She offered him a warm smile, now safe out of arm's reach. "You should get some sleep – it's been a long night for you."

"You too, doll – it's been a long night for you, too," he reminded her.

She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "They're all long nights. That's the job." She fixed him with a serious look, and he could see the veil of command settle back around her shoulders – the job catching up with their mission on the moonlight. It separated that quiet peace from her orders, her work, and her purpose on the Western Front.

He could appreciate that; Bucky never wanted to imagine the portrait he had started to form of the sharp, witty woman in the moonlight as someone who ran towards danger, surrounded by blood and suffering. He wanted to keep them as separate as possible, and he imagined so did she.

So when she ordered him once more to get some sleep, he replied with a sharp confirming nod. "Yes, Ma'am," and was rewarded with a grateful smile.

"Sleep well, Sergeant Barnes."

"You too, Lieutenant Shaw."

* * *

A/N: WHO WANTS SOME FLUFF? YOU GET SOME FLUFF, AND YOUUUU GET SOME FLUFF, EVERYBODY GETS SOME FLUFFFFFFF!

Dear Stars – this chapter is infinitely long but I knew if I split it into two all of my readers would have declared that they NEEDED THE OTHER CHAPTER RIGHT NOWWWW.

So you got it all at once. Happy?

Bucky is kind of fascinated by Alice, which is what I wanted to develop here. It's so hard to develop a relationship organically, and I hope it's coming across as natural. Alice is avoiding it for obvious reasons, but her general odd-ness is what's attracting Bucky. If she'd been Generic Nurse #7 he probably wouldn't have been as persistent.

Soapwort and Marshmallow are real plants you can use to make shampoo and conditioner – Alice just combined them into a co-wash for simplicity's sake.

Many thanks to my reviewers, who finally seem to be growing in numbers: TikiKiki, Sanguinary Tide, WonderLoki, and Ronnie H.!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**

If you don't review my anxiety tells me you hated it and I cry inside.


	14. The Push

Alice didn't watch Bucky leave. There was really no choice about it; she knew she had definitely _intended_ to keep a solid mile between her and James Buchanan Barnes at all time, but the idiot himself had ruined the plan. She knew she should have kept her distance, but what was she supposed to do when he blatantly threatened to tell _Fletcher_ that she was leaving camp without permission?

She let Ingrid sign perform his final check-up, and definitely did not hide in an unusual place to avoid running into him.

It didn't help that every time she looked at his face she wondered how long it would take to tear away his personality. She saw him smile and wondered when would be the last time. He made a joke and she tasted the ash of complicity stain her tongue as she laughed.

It didn't help that he was quite charming. She knew that _he_ knew he was charming, too. She enjoyed it a little too much that she didn't respond to his charm. She wanted to keep it that way, and that required distance.

September roared past with almost no warning bringing with it a rush of rain, mud, and blood. The evenings turned bitter cold, and Alice was thrust almost all at once back into the fever-pitch of winter maladies.

Something must have happened out on the Front, as Dum Dum could hardly find the time to see her. Alice was turned away from the Trenches more nights than she was allowed in because of mortars, but she tried to take it as good exercise for Grani either way.

The casual ease of summer gave way with almost no warning and a tense resolution grew in the shoulders of her patients, rolling through in ever-increasing waves. The four nurses could no longer work regular shifts with the promise of a full night of sleep, and even Alice began to feel the strain. The change of seasons meant that herbal supplies were beginning to wane after a strong peak, and she would need to harvest everything in sight to get through the winter.

Out of the oddest of habits, Alice would whisper a poem to herself to stay awake as she dried, powdered, and stored herbs through the long, increasingly cold nights.

 _The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

As she harvested from the field, the grasses growing golden and brittle in her hands.

 _But I have promises to keep,_

Tying bundles and hanging them from every rafter, checking them nightly.

 _And miles to go before I sleep_

Patting her cheeks to keep awake for the third night in a row.

 _And miles to go before I sleep._

* * *

"Hey Alice," Thompson called to Alice and she jerked awake from her hunched position at the nurses' desk.

"I'm awake," she protested without prompting, but blinked blearily at Thompson.

"Sure you are; so you don't need this coffee?" He waved the cup gently enough in her direction to waft the fumes at her.

"Gimme," Alice demanded, holding out both hands and frowning when he pulled back.

"You're needed at Triage – special call," he explained.

Alice moaned something like an assent under her breath, standing and cracking her back. "How long was I out?"

Thompson handed Alice her customary satchel. "About twenty minutes – grab your coat, too; it's pouring out."

Heavy sheets of rain blew through the 111th like icy razorblades, cutting through warm, dry clothes with a brutal ferocity. The waxed canvas provided temporary respite, given you had avoiding bullets and other piercing damage to the sensitive treated layer.

Alice followed Thompson through the fierce weather at the fastest pace they could manage without spilling her coffee or tripping into an open trench.

They shook their coats out furiously as they entered Thompson's Triage tent, and Grani nickered in greeting. Alice's attention was drawn to a familiar face, however. "Sergeant Dugan!" she greeted. "Run out of men to use as an excuse to see me?"

"Ma'am, I've a favor to ask." Dum Dum's moustache didn't move into his usual signature smile, and Alice knew the seriousness of the situation weighed heavily on him.

Alice hung her coat up, a look of concern growing on her face. "Of course, Sergeant – always."

His head jerked in a tight nod. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I need a pick-me-up or some genuine magic for three hundred."

Alice's jaw dropped, but she quickly clicked her mouth shut. "That's… quite the tall order, Sergeant."

Dum Dum gave her a look and jerked his head towards the back corner of the tent – Grani's little paddock, far from prying eyes. Alice followed him and Dugan spoke in a quiet whisper. "Between you, me, and hi-ho-Silver here, we've got some big orders coming and I don't think we'll make it the way we are now."

Alice chewed on her lip. "What are you thinking?"

He bobbed his head from side to side in a _this-or-that_ motion. "A shot of coffee to the nuts, L.T."

A sharp report of laughter burst from her mouth and she quickly covered it. "Sorry, just-"

Dum Dum finally cracked a grin. "Yes, ma'am."

Alice rubbed her thumb against her pointer finger, digging in the nail a bit. "How long do I have to get this miracle potion together?"

"A week at most?" He sounded so hopeful, Alice just couldn't refuse.

She nodded. "A week on the dot, I'll have it for you."

* * *

Alice wracked her brain for days, trying to figure out how to make the "miracle potion" she had promised Dum Dum. She chewed her lip until it bled, healed overnight, and bled again. She rubbed the nail of her thumb against her finger until that bled, too.

Ingrid poked her head to check on Alice the night before her miracle potion was due, an earnest look of concern wrapped around her. "What's on your mind, sugar?" Ingrid asked.

"I made a promise I can't keep," Alice groaned. "Or at least, I can't think of how to do it."

Ingrid nodded knowingly. "My Ma always told me to think like I'd already done it, and that would make it possible."

Alice sighed heavily. "Sorry, Ingrid – wishing can't always make it so."

"It's not wishing – it's like… tricking your brain!" Ingrid defended.

"But-" Alice started to contradict, but stopped as a shot of inspiration struck her. Alice sat bolt upright so fast her hair flopped forward from the momentum. "Ingrid…" Alice said slowly. She stood equally slowly, like a cat stalking prey, before bursting into motion. "You're a genius!"

"Did that help?" Ingrid asked hopefully.

Alice leapt over a full two cots in a shocking display of athleticism to the younger nurse and seized her face, kissing both cheeks in quick succession. Ingrid yelped in surprise and fell backwards as Alice let go just as fast and ran out of the tent, still yelling her thanks.

Alice burst into the mess tent with her chest heaving and her eyes blazing with wild fervor. "Your biggest cookpot, Cookie – I need it! I also need all that Wood sorrel I gave you – you didn't use it yes, did you?"

"Still got it." He looked confused, but complied. "Too lemony. Too wet."

"No – it's perfect," Alice nodded fervently to herself. "It's perfect."

* * *

 **October 3** **rd** **, 1943**

Alice was waiting for Dum Dum at Triage when he pulled up in the jeep, Thompson's desk covered from end to end in Army-issue two-gallon drink dispensers. Alice had begged, borrowed, and stolen as many as she could from every corner. She had twelve gallons of her "magic potion" and the pride she felt about it threatened to burst from her in beams of pure sunlight.

Alice greeted him confidently. "Evening, Sergeant – five days, as promised. There's enough for four ounces per man, with a little to spare for those that need a little extra encouragement." She waved her arm like a regular Vanna White at her pride and joy.

Dum Dum approached with interest, hands settling on each huge insulated container in turn. "What is it?" he asked, opening a lid to give a sniff.

Alice snapped the lid shut, almost catching his moustache. "It's genuine _magic_ , just like you asked."

"Really?" he asked dubiously. "Because it looks like tea to me. Cold tea."

"Does every Sergeant in the 107th doubt my magic, or is it just you and Barnes?" Alice protested in exasperation.

"Haven't met Barnes more than once, but I think we'd get along fine now," Dum Dum replied.

Alice and Dum Dum started loading the huge insulated containers into the Jeep. "Just tell them it's from Nurse Shaw – 'for what ails you', and all that."

"You really want me to say that?" Dugan raised an eyebrow and looked somehow more skeptical. "For what ails you?"

Alice thought for a moment. "You're right – it needs to be without saying…" she mumbled quietly under her breath for a few seconds, thinking through something out loud. She snapped her fingers, startling both Thompson and Dugan. "I'll be right back!" she declared before running off.

Dugan watched her run off, then leaned towards Thompson. "She do that often?"

"I've got a horse in Triage – what do you think?"

Alice returned swiftly with her arms full of an orange-red flower that looked a little like Ragweed, only the stems were bright red, too. She panted a little to catch her breath, and wrapped the plants up in a canvas sheet to protect them from the drive. "Tie a few of these amaranth blossoms around the spigots so the tea – the _magic_ tea – has to pour through it. That'll do it."

"L.T., don't snap your cap or anything, but I've got better than rocks rattling around under this fine hat of mine." Dugan looked at her flatly. "You tell me straight now – what is all this?"

Alice was visibly distressed and tugged at her hair in a distinctly juvenile motion. "If I explain it, it loses the magic – and I do mean that. It'll work, I promise. If you _believe_ it works."

She pulled one of the springs of amaranth from the protective cloth, waving it slightly like one might wave a banner flag, testing the snap of the fabric. "I figured I couldn't make everyone into real super-soldiers – not in five days, anyway – but I could settle stomachs, quench thirst, and freshen the mind. But your men don't need reason or science or truth right now. " She waved the amaranth in front of her face, concealing one eye mysteriously. Her eyes were clear and bright, not blood-shot or surrounded by purple smears like all of those around her. "Your men need _magic_."

She put the amaranth back in the protective wrapping, and Dugan watched her steady motions with new appreciation. It was a hell of a _ballsy_ move she was trying to pull. "Yes Ma'am – I think they'll appreciate a good spell from the Witch of the Western Front."

* * *

Alice didn't have to wait long to find out if her fake potion worked. Two days later, Alice heard the roar of the Jeeps as they tore up the road in deep troughs of mud, bearing down on the 111th with frantic speed. Nurses and doctor alike were woken and rushed into action as a hundred men in various stages of dying filled every bed.

"What's going on?" Alice asked, running past Gloria and Ingrid to get fresh bandages as they ran in the other direction towards the surgery tent.

"The 107th is pushing towards Azzano – they've gained almost ten miles – they really showed 'em!" Ingrid cried.

Alice stopped cold but the world kept moving around her.

 _Azzano._

Alice had helped the 107th push towards Azzano.

And capture.

Torture.

Alice retched into an open trench.

No one noticed.

* * *

A/N: OH MAN I was definitely supposed to be packing as I wrote this. I'm wrapping up one of my 5-week work trips and 100% procrastinating. I basically take over a hotel room for a month and packing everything again is the WORST.

This chapter didn't originally exist in my outline, but I'm so happy it appeared. I wanted Alice to be presented with an impossible task while at the same time needed to explain the 107th's push from trenches into makeshift foxholes.

This chapter was written entirely by repeating this song until I hated it: **Still Feel** by **half alive**

Many thanks to my reviewers: UnknownReaderHasJoined, Ronnie.H, TikiKiki and Sanguinary Tide!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	15. Sick Day

**October 11** **th** **, 1943**

It took several days for the action to settle down – whatever battle the 107th was raging against the Germans as they pushed closer towards Azzano had passed peak action. _The eye of the hurricane_ , Alice realized one morning as she wrung bloody water from long swaths of cloth.

The 107th had moved fifteen miles further away from the 111th, putting them actually closer to the 130th Field Hospital and out of Alice's purview. While that meant that the soldiers of the 107th didn't come to her automatically in traumatic events, it didn't stop her from going out to see them. Those were _her_ boys out there, and even as she accepted the fact that she had become ridiculously attached she rejected entirely the idea of abandoning them to someone else's care.

It did add an extra hour to her 'commute', and after four straight days without sleep she fell asleep while waiting in line for coffee before her morning shift, startling poor Cookie almost to death. She moved through her shift in a sort of daze, and Joanna wisely kept her directed away from the more delicate or detailed tasks.

Alice could hear the faint buzzing of conversation humming against her skin, but beyond that she was without affect – moving on autopilot. She could be mostly effective in that fashion but it left her vulnerable to forgetting other tasks – like, say, _eating_.

After she collapsed in front of her station, a half-rolled length of bandages spilling out into the dirt, several patients sprung out of bed to lift her at once into a cot and summon the rest of the nursing staff. The camp filled with rumors in the short time it took to summon a doctor – _Smallpox or Spanish Flu? Did the Germans poison the food?_

Speculation flew through every ear, including one Private Riley of the 107th, discharged from medical only moments before Alice's collapse, climbing into a Jeep to return to the front. The theories grew and intensified in the back of that Jeep's two-hour drive to Azzano, the handful of soldiers tossing ideas back and forth with all the enthusiasm of men with nothing else to do to pass the time.

They spread to distant corners of the 107th's foxhole positions along the Italian line, the low foggy gloom dampening whispers in the air so interested parties caught only snippets unless they came closer. These snippets of conversation caught the fraught attention of one Sergeant Barnes in passing.

 _That nurse at the 111_ _th_ _collapsed._ Bucky stopped dead in his paces, his head moving on a swivel to identify the speaker. _Sick, you think? All kinds of sick going through that place._ His pace quickened as he honed in on the soldiers conversing in hushed tones, quickly identifying them.

"Bradford and Riley, is it?" Bucky called as he approached.

The two Privates scrambled to stand, guiltily hiding a deck of cards. "Yessir," Riley confirmed.

Bucky didn't give a damn about the cards at that moment – if they wanted to get shot because they were distracted, he had other concerns. "Which nurse at the 111th – which nurse collapsed?"

"Well, Sir – I only heard a bit as I was leaving, you see, and I could be wrong…" she Private stammered.

"Spit it out!" Bucky barked. There were four nurses at the 111th; good odds that it couldn't be-

Riley gulped. "Shaw, Sir – I heard it was Miss Shaw."

* * *

"Really, this isn't necessary – I just need some bread and some coffee and I can get right back to work," Alice protested as Joanna tucked the blankets tighter around Alice's shoulders.

Joanna shot Alice a frosty look that would have put glaciers to shame. "If you move from this bed before tomorrow morning I will cast your feet in plaster so you can't walk at all."

Alice sunk lower in her bed. "What if I have to pee?"

"One bathroom break." Joanna's eyes narrowed. "No funny business, Alice."

Alice snuck one arm out from underneath the tight blankets and crossed over her chest. "Promise."

The older nurse pointed at a tray laden with food. "Eat all of that."

"But-" Alice tried to protest.

" _Eat._ _All of it_." The implied threat struck down Alice's protests. "I'll be back in a few hours to check on you. Try to get some sleep." Joanna spun on her heel, huffing a little in exasperation, but she paused before leaving the tent. "Alice?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Yeah?" Alice replied.

Joanna released a shuddering breath. "Please don't scare us like that. I don't know what we would do without you."

Alice tucked her chin under the blankets like a child. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"You should be," Joanna snapped. "Now go to sleep!"

* * *

It took Alice longer than usual to get to sleep. She badly wanted to be working, but even with her healing factor she couldn't escape the need for the basic necessities – food, sleep, and water. Her attention drifted slowly as she ran through a list of all the tasks she wanted to complete once Joanna released her.

 _I was supposed to do a boot check tonight,_ Alice sighed, which morphed into a yawn that was painfully wide. She rolled onto her side, gripping the pillow tightly to get comfortable. _Just a little nap, then I'll try to sneak some work in_ , Alice bargained with herself. _Joanna wouldn't really cast my feet._

She slept deeply for hours, and for all the sounds that floated past without causing her to stir – Joanna's checking-in, a cry of pain from a patient nearby, the backfire of a Jeep – it was a gentle knock on her tent's main shaft and a voice that definitely wasn't Joanna's that roused Alice.

"Alice?" The voice was filled with tense concern, and a shadow passed through the golden light of a late sunset as Bucky entered her tent. Joanna's face flickered over his shoulder – clearly making sure that Alice _actually_ knew this man who had harassed her intensely to please, _please_ let him see Alice Shaw.

"Sergeant Barnes?" Her voice was hoarse from having slept more than just a few minutes. She pulled the blanket higher to cover herself as she sat up, though it wasn't really necessary as she had slept in her normal clothes. "Do you need medical attention?"

He waved her off, moving to crouch at her bedside. "No, no – I heard you weren't feeling so swell and…" he trailed off. The hard expression on his face betrayed an intense concern and a muscle tightened in his jaw, but his hard expression broke into a smile as he produced a bowl of oatmeal. "Had to make sure you got something to eat."

"You came forty miles to bring me oatmeal?" Alice was touched, accepting the bowl.

Bucky's hands brushed over hers briefly as he handed her the bowl, ensuring that she had a firm hold. "Anything for you, doll," he vowed, and a sharp electricity shot through Alice's hands as he released them.

"Do you need anything, Alice?" Joanna asked sharply, her eyebrows raised in a _'do I need to kick him out?'_ question.

"I'm good – thanks, honey," Alice confirmed, and Joanna nodded before leaving them alone.

Bucky shifted a little, uncomfortable in his kneeling position. "I can keep you company for a little while if you like – teach you to play cards?" He produced his trusty Red Cross deck, slipping them from the case with practiced ease.

Alice hesitated, but couldn't send him away. If she had been more careful about taking care of herself, Bucky wouldn't have felt the need to travel the significant distance between them just to check and see if she was alive.

"I'm afraid I'm not much good at card games – have you learned any good tricks you can show me?" Alice asked, settling down on her side as Bucky pulled up a stool. He shuffled the cards, a few of them tumbling out of his hands or flicking towards Alice. "You sure you've done this before?" Alice joked, tossing him back the cards.

Bucky flexed the cards back and forth to loosen the stock. "The paper on these is really thick – blame the Red Cross for them flying the coop." He shuffled them again, this time successfully keeping them in his hands. "You got a favorite card, doll?" Bucky asked.

"Queen of Clubs," Alice replied instantly.

Bucky paused in shuffling. "You're real sure about that."

Alice shrugged one shoulder, almost tipping the oatmeal bowl too far in the motion. "I thought they were little berry sprigs growing up."

Bucky laughed, shaking his head at her. "Most dames like the diamond or the heart – figures you'd like the Plant Queen." He pulled the card from the deck for good measure, closing one eye and squinting with the other. "I guess if you're mostly blind it looks like a plant."

"Hey!" Alice protested. She seized the card from his hands. "I guess it doesn't really look like one," she admitted, looking around her cot. "You got a pen?"

"What're you thinking, doll?" Bucky asked, already producing a pen from his breast pocket.

Alice accepted the pen, and doodled on the card, giving the Queen of CLubs a few gaudy sunflowers as a frame around her head. "There," she declared, "now she's a proper Plant Queen."

Bucky took the card back and laughed even harder. "You're gonna make it really hard for me to win at poker with a card like that looking back up at me."

"You want me to do the others?" Alice offered, reaching for the deck,

"No, no that's fine," Bucky leaned away, protecting his precious playing cards. "One's more than enough for me."

"L.T.?" a second male voice called, from outside the tent.

"Dum Dum!" Alice cried joyfully as he entered, sitting up straighter. "What are you doing here?"

He held up a hand. "No – don't get up. You alright? I heard you caught Spanish Flu or something."

Alice shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Just a little worn out is all."

"And you are?" Dugan asked sharply, directing his attention to Bucky.

"Sergeant Dugan, Sergeant Barnes," Alice waved between them in introduction.

"Fighting Irish?" Bucky asked, standing to shake Dum Dum's hand.

"There's none better," Dugan confirmed.

Alice waved him closer. "Join us, Dum Dum – now we can have a proper Poker game – right?" she asked Bucky.

"Right you are," Bucky confirmed with a grin.

Dum Dum found another stool and sat at Alice's other side, with all three using the bed of Alice's lap as the card table. The two Sergeants started as awkward strangers with a precious person of their lives sitting between them.

It only took less than an hour for them to develop an easy camaraderie by sharing stories about Alice while she provided protesting commentary. Bucky discovered that Dum Dum cheated by somehow hiding cards in his bowler hat, and Dum Dum realized that Bucky was dead nuts about Alice. It wasn't hard to see.

They passed the remainder of the late afternoon and early evening playing cards with Alice until Joanna removed both of them by declaring that _Alice needs her rest and you two are hardly restful._ Dum Dum watched as Bucky bid her goodbye, taking careful note of how he squeezed her hand.

Dum Dum wrapped an arm around Bucky's shoulders as they exited the tent. "Buddy," he shook his head. "You know if you hurt her no one will ever find your body, right?"

Bucky reeled, but Dum Dum held his shoulders tightly, leading him through camp and away from Alice's sensitive ears as Bucky protested. "What? _Who?_ Shaw?"

Dum Dum nodded knowingly. "No fooling, Barnes; I find her upset because you did something stupid, I'll cut your fingers off one by one and feed them to you – we clear?" He said it with such a calm smile, it was somehow so much worse.

Bucky tried to shake off the arm. "Listen – I like a good gas as much as the next guy, but you've got something wrong upstairs if you think-"

Dum Dum let go of Bucky's shoulder. "Just keep on the beam and it'll all be fine. Now," Dum Dum clapped his hands. "You know where to find some decent joe around here? I can never find the damn mess."

* * *

A/N: This is another one of those chapters that existed only in about 500 words worth of content and just blew way, way up. Kudos to those of you that noticed that Alice's "magic potion" of Wood Sorrel was essentially a placebo drink. It's a well-known plant for quenching thirst and settling the stomach, as well as having a refreshing taste. Alice risked it all on the weight of her reputation alone. I hope this gives you some appreciation for the time I spent building her reputation as the _Witch of the Western Front_ (as Dum Dum calls her)

Dum Dum = protective Dad-mode.

Picture of me trying to finish a chapter: *rolling on the floor* _I don wannaaaaaaaa_

Picture of me waiting for reviews: *face pressed to computer* _gimme_

I'm really excited about the next two chapters.

Title of the Next Chapter (should I start doing this more?): **Prelude to Disaster**

Many thanks to my reviewers: otterton, Sanguinary Tide, and WonderLoki!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	16. Prelude to Disaster

**October 29** **th** **, 1943**

Alice should have been suspicious when supplies arrived. Hundreds of vials of penicillin don't come without a price. All of the nurses descended upon the supply trucks in a frenzy, each selecting the rare items to hide in their personal hoard. Joanna absconded with most of the Penicillin – seemingly the best at hiding it from the over-enthusiastic Dr. Fletcher, the other nurses didn't protest… much.

"What do you think's coming?" Ingrid asked over the morning shift-change's coffee.

"Can't be good, whatever it is," Alice mused between sips.

Gloria _tsked_ at the morose pair. "Don't be so pessimistic! Maybe production is just finally catching up with demand."

Ingrid and Alice shared a look, then both looked at Gloria and spoke in unison. "Not a chance in hell."

Joanna covered Gloria's ears with her hands. " _Language!_ She's an innocent!"

Ingrid and Alice were still laughing as Dr. Fletcher approached, and Alice choked on her own tongue as he cleared his throat disapprovingly. "Ladies," he greeted. "Alice," he addressed separately, his voice frosty.

 _Ouch_ , Alice thought.

"Good morning, Dr. Fletcher," Gloria's cheerful greeting warmed the icy air.

He looked uncomfortable in their collective presence, right hand tucked in the pocket of his white coat and the left swinging a clipboard from side to side. "I need volunteers to go to the 107th – the Army has decided that following a recent outbreak of…" he looked down at his sheet and decided better of announcing the ailment. "Following a recent outbreak, every man gets a shot of Penicillin, and the 130th F.H. didn't get their shipment like we did."

Alice's hand shot up instantly as did Gloria's and – surprisingly – Joanna's. "What are you doing? You hate nature," Alice hissed.

"I need to see what's got you so _damn interested_ in all that field work," Joanna hissed back.

Fletcher nodded, scribbling down the names of the three nurses. "Head out soon – bring tent supplies; they're out in foxholes and there's some fog rolling in soon."

"You're going to leave me here alone?" Ingrid whined as Fletcher walked away, her shoulders sagging in disappointment.

Alice squeezed her shoulder. "The tents are practically empty – you'll be fine for a few hours."

Joanna swiped a few breadcrumbs from her apron as she stood. "All right then – we'll need all that Penicillin back, probably couldn't hurt to bring bandages, soap and wash bins, a little tent – think we should ask Thompson to come with us or will the 107th help set up?" Joanna hummed to herself.

Gloria drew Alice aside briefly and Joanna drifted away from them, still ticking off a list of supplies on her fingers. "Are you up for this, Alice? You were sick not too long ago."

Alice appreciated the concern, but she much preferred to forget entirely about the time she forgot to eat for so long that her healing factor couldn't keep up. "All better; don't worry about me. Is that all?" she asked Gloria.

Gloria appeared pensive, a concerned frown growing on her forehead. "I have a bad feeling – I don't know why. You should bring that horse of yours, and Joanna and I will take the Jeep."

Alice was taken aback. "Are you sure? I won't be able to keep up the whole way – you two would be mostly set-up by the time I got there."

Gloria hesitated, but nodded. "I'm sure. I just…" she sucked in a breath through her teeth and didn't finish the thought.

Alice patted her arm soothingly. "I understand – I'll help Joanna pack the Jeep and we'll get going, alright?"

"Thank you for understanding, Alice," Gloria breathed a sigh of relief.

Alice did understand. They had seen more than enough slow days turn into bloodbaths. Alice had personally been turned away from the 107th for the violence raining from above. She knew the feeling of a sense of intense doom waiting just in the wings. Alice could feel it sitting in the air, just like Gloria; a thunderstorm brewing in the distance, or a field of ponies rushing toward shelter.

Joanna seemed to be mostly oblivious as they loaded the Jeep, directing exactly how she wanted the supplies stored, and chastising Alice for "stepping out" on the setup by taking Grani. Alice ended up taking a roll of supplies – just in case – of several heavy wool blankets.

They set out into the late morning, Joanna oblivious, Gloria anxious, and Alice tense.

* * *

The nurses needn't have worried about getting help setting up the tent. As soon as word arrived ahead of the nurses that they were coming, there were easily two dozen volunteers who leapt into action as soon as the roar of the engine drifted through the mist.

Bucky was, of course, among them. He sidled his way to the side as the nurses stepped out, and his heart fell as he saw two less-than-familiar faces. "Ladies," he greeted, trying to hide his disappointment. "Mind if we give you a hand?"

"Two whole squads to ourselves? What ever did we do to deserve this?" The nurse chuckled merrily. "I'm Nurse Potter, this is Nurse Quill," she introduced.

"Pleasure is all ours, Ma'am." Bucky directed his squad to unload the Jeep, and the supplies vanished in an instant.

Nurse Potter rested a hand on Bucky's arm to get his attention, a warm smile gracing her face. "You'll have to forgive the tardiness, but our third hand will arrive a little later – Nurse Shaw, have you met her?"

A slow mile spread across Bucky's face. "On occasion, Ma'am." He set out to help with the setup with a lighter spring in his step.

Dum Dum Dugan's threats had swirled around in his head for a good long while after they both left the 111th. The comments had come out of seemingly nowhere with no reasonable provocation. Bucky didn't have any kind of romantic feelings for Alice – he just thought she was interesting. Trying to explain that to the older Sergeant had resulted in a barrel-chested laugh drowning him out entirely.

It wasn't that other girls weren't interesting, it was that he had never really cared to ask. The uniform alone was more than enough to get the interest of an ordinary dame, and all the victory curls and red lips blended together in his memory. But then there was Alice – sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and completely immune to charm. She gathered herbs in the moonlight and trained a War Horse to respond to a unique whistle. She was _interesting_.

She also turned up horribly late in the day.

Nurses Potter and Quill didn't seem to notice her absence until the line waiting for their shots grew quite long. The handful of Sergeants in charge of their squads tried to wrangle the various Privates and Specialists into a respectable line, but an equal amount of command was needed to make them _go away_ afterwards.

The collection of milling soldiers was concerning for the commanders. They were loud, and they were exposed out here on the flatlands. The foxholes weren't nearly as protective as the trench had been, and the low-hanging fog only provided so much cover. They had set up the makeshift med tent a good half-mile from the actual confrontation line, but better safe than sorry.

" _Alice_!" an annoyed voice barked almost instantly as hoof-beats sounded through the mist, and the blonde nurse rode towards the tent, already swinging a leg over the saddle and finishing her approach standing on just one stirrup.

"Sorry, sorry," she apologized profusely as she dismounted quickly, tying off her horse's reins around the tent post. "Had a bit of an incident with a badger and some hedges. What do you need?" Bucky watched from a slight distance as the three fell into a better rhythm, getting the line pushed through at a much more reasonable rate.

Bucky lost track of the time as he cycled through the men, making sure that the front itself was always defended. He crossed paths with Dum Dum briefly as the Sergeant took his squad for their shots. Dugan looked rather smug as he returned, and Bucky didn't bother asking why.

The line was gone by late afternoon, and the nurses were taking their time cleaning up, enjoying casual conversation with the men that had chosen to linger for their attention. Bucky craned his neck around, spotting Alice some distance away, taking care of her massive horse.

She seemed peaceful – a tension having lifted from her shoulders as she brushed some stray thistle from the horse's coat, checking under the saddle for little annoyances. He could see her mouth moving as she spoke, but wasn't close enough to hear what she was saying.

"Heya, Alice," he greeted, trying not to startle the woman as he approached. The horse lipped at his sleeve as he offered a hand to the great gray beast.

"He thinks you're offering him a snack," Alice's voice chimed from the other side of the horse, and she reached around to drop a carrot in his hand. "Can I help you, Sergeant?" she asked, coming around and patting the horse on the nose.

Bucky let the horse gleefully take the carrot, and wiped his hand on his trousers. "Just thought I'd drop by and make sure you're feeling well."

Alice smiled a little, sending a mild electric shock running through Bucky's hands. "I am – thank you."

"Are you busy?" Bucky asked. Alice raised an eyebrow and the brush simultaneously. "I meant after this."

She looked hesitant. "I didn't have concrete plans, no. Maybe take down the tent with the girls or scrounge up something to eat."

Bucky patted the horse on his side. "When you're finished with the brick wall here you should come by center camp."

Alice made a face. "This usually takes me a while – Grani can get a little disheveled if I don't-" She stopped rambling as Bucky grabbed the brush out of Alice's hand and began vigorously brushing the horse. Grani stomped to the side and Bucky tried to follow as Alice laughed, holding up a hand to stop him. "You're brushing too hard _and_ in the wrong direction, Sergeant."

Bucky tried again, and the horse didn't kick him. "Is it so difficult for you to call me Bucky? I'm not on-duty, _you're_ not on-duty..."

"Sergeant," Alice began.

"Bucky," he pressed.

" _Sergeant_ ," she sounded annoyed.

Bucky stopped brushing to give her an earnest look. "C'mon, just try it: Bucky. Practically rolls off the tongue."

Alice glared at him. "You're insufferable."

He smiled smugly. "No, I'm Bucky."

Alice groaned. "That is a horrible joke and you should be ashamed of yourself." Her mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. She took the brush back and resumed caring for the horse.

"Don't you know how to have any fun?" Bucky asked, rolling up his sleeves and pulling his cards out of his pocket, shuffling them absent-mindedly. The Plant Queen danced between his fingers, the blue ink flashing garishly in the night.

Alice stopped brushing the horse and looked down at her boots. "I'm just not a fun person, Sergeant Barnes."

 _Well that won't do_ , Bucky thought _._ "Hey now, doll-"

" _Alice!_ " Nurse Quill barked, cutting through the conversation. "Are you planning on helping us at all?"

"Just a second!" Alice yelled back. "I'm sorry; what were you saying?" she asked Bucky.

"I was saying…" Bucky lost his nerve, a confident proposal dying under Alice's intense stare. "It's dark – you girls should camp here for the night and head back in the morning."

Alice glanced out into the growing gloom. The late autumn afternoon was yielding too soon to night, and they weren't quite ready to leave. "We'll be fine," she mused. "I've ridden through the night enough times."

Bucky jerked a thumb over at the other nurses. "Yeah, but Potter and Quill haven't – and what about that thing with the badger and the hedge? That'd be no fun at all in the dark. C'mon – we'll pitch you three a real tent and everything."

Alice fanned herself comically. "Why, Sergeant Barnes, you certainly know how to treat a lady." He laughed, a warm feeling settling in his stomach.

That Sergeant Dugan was mistaken, he knew. Alice was interesting, but there wasn't a dame in the world worth giving up his freedom for. He worried for her safety as much as any of his brothers-in-arms, he told himself. _If I had to pick a dame to settle down with, there's a hundred other nurses that'd be more than willing._

Alice tucked the brush she had been using away in her satchel and drew the horse near to take the leaders. Her hands were so small, he noticed. He would have expected them to be calloused by now – every nurse he knew had rough hands from all the scrubbing and hard work – but Alice's looked as soft as brand new skin.

"Hey," Alice said softly, reaching out a hand to touch his arm and capture his attention. "Thanks."

Since he had pushed up his sleeves, her fingers brushed against his inner arm. He was right; the skin of her hands was as soft as silk.

 _There's a hundred other nurses much less trouble than Alice Shaw_.

* * *

A/N: I guess I've got a thing for Bucky POV right now? Also what is with all of these chapters coming out so fast – what is it, five in five? Yowza. I also clearly had no idea how to close this chapter. Fight me.

The next chapter is from Alice's POV, and then maybe Dum Dum after that? I haven't planned that far ahead OTL

Title of the next chapter: **The Angel of Azzano**

GET HYPED

HYPED

HYPED

This next chapter (The Angel of Azzano) has been written for quite some time, even though it's changed a lot as my plans for Alice developed.

Many thanks to my reviewers: Ronnie H., Sanguinary Tide, TikiKiki and Love. Fiction .2018

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	17. The Angel of Azzano

**Roughly Seventy Years in the future…**

Alice liked making pancakes. Pancakes were simple, and didn't require more than a quarter of her attention to make. "Cable?" she asked, flipping a golden disc.

"You ask too many questions," he replied from her table. "You're going to start to obsess."

"Okay but-" Alice turned at the stove, waving the spatula. "What if I don't know enough? What if I accidentally let someone die who should have lived? What if-" she gasped, grabbing at her face with both hands, the spatula smacking into her forehead. "What if I let someone live who should have died?"

"Jesus Christ, do you ever stop worrying?" Cable groaned.

"I worry because you are _deliberately_ not telling me things," Alice clarified, taking her pancake from the stove and adding it to a growing stack on a plate.

" _Yes_ ," Cable confirmed. "Because as long as you stay away from certain places, you can't do a lot of damage."

"Places like…?" Alice left the question hanging.

Cable appeared bored with her question. "Azzano, for one. Don't go wandering too close to the Front Line at all, actually. Just stay in your little Field Hospital and don't wander too far."

"Got it," Alice nodded resolutely. "Stay away from Azzano. Stay away from the Front Lines. Wait-" she paused. "So how am I supposed to do anything at all?"

"We'll get to that," Cable drawed. "Now are you going to give me any of those pancakes or are you just gonna keep making them all day?"

"How do I know you're not making all of this up as you go?" Alice asked dubiously.

"I'm from the future." Cable stood up to take some pancakes, since she obviously wasn't about to give him any. "I'm telling you everything you need to know."

* * *

 **October 30** **th** **, 1943**

Alice was typically a light sleeper after she got more than two hours of sleep. Her body resisted sleeping through the night, frantic to get back to work to relieve the worry that clung to the insides of her stomach. Alice woke slowly in the middle of the night, her sleep disrupted by an odd shuffling sound in the tent next to hers.

Alice sat up slowly, pulling on her boots over the thick wool socks as she yawned. _Who in their right mind is making a ruckus at this time of night_ , she wondered, pulling on her jacket. Joanna and Gloria were still fast asleep on their bedrolls, and Alice moved slowly so as not to disturb them. A thick fog clung to the ground and made it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of her, but the makeshift med tent was right next to the nurses' tent. Alice shivered a bit in the cold and pulled back the tent flap to give whoever was shuffling and grunting around a piece of her mind.

Alice wouldn't later be able to describe what she had been expecting to find, but Bucky wrestling a German soldier with a rifle probably wasn't high on her list.

They were both prone on the ground, with the German clearly having the upper hand, nearly strangling Bucky with the barrel of his rifle. But at Alice's entrance, his grip seemed to slacken – in sheer surprise, most likely. Out of reflex more than any planned action, Alice swiftly raised her boot and _stomped_ on the soldier's face. He cried out, releasing Bucky to clutch at his own broken nose.

" _Ambush!"_ Alice yelled, turning her head to scream as loud as possible. " _Germans!"_

And all hell broke loose.

From the clamor and gunshots that rose into swift crescendo outside, Alice could guess that the soldier hadn't been alone – the 107th was inundated with a German strike force intent on murdering them all in their sleep.

Bucky had gained the upper hand with her help, but the German soldier swung his rifle in Alice's direction while her back was turned. Bucky roared " _Alice – drop!"_ and she collapsed flat to the ground without hesitation.

The German soldier shot _right_ where her head had just been. Bucky finally managed to retrieve his service pistol from its case at his side and dispatched the German. Alice peered up from the dirt to meet Bucky's blazing eyes, his chest heaving for breath. "You need to go!"

Alice nodded, and realized in a moment what she had forgotten. "Gloria and Joanna!" She sprung up from the floor and raced out of the tent.

An explosion blossomed in front of her and she raised her arms to shield her face. Bucky seized her by the waist and pulled her backwards, turning their bodies to shelter her with his larger frame. Alice couldn't spare the seconds to thank him as the fire following the explosion began to engulf the tent and they scrambled to escape.

" _Jo!"_ Alice cried, _"Gloria!_ " Her worry was only partially justified, as the onset of gunfire and yelling had woken both nurses and they were already springing into action. Gloria was pressing a heavy cloth to a soldier's bleeding shoulder, while Joanna was directing injured men into their Jeep. It was a small vehicle, and the suspension was already starting to sink dangerously low.

"Tell the Jeep to leave – we can take one of the 107th's," Alice shouted.

Gloria nodded, and barked instructions to a nearby soldier. "Take the Jeep to the 111th and tell them to pack up camp! An ambush is moving the Front!" As sweet and kind as Gloria could be, she was the head nurse for a reason; the authority in her voice was unquestionable.

The Jeep coughed to life and bounced across the uneven ground, the transmission squealing as a less-experienced driver tried to force it into action. Gloria helped the soldier whose gunshot would she was compressing stand, giving him as much encouragement as she could offer. _We'll put you on the next Jeep_ , she promised. _Just a little longer_.

"Alice!" Bucky's voice made her head whip around. He was more put together now – a helmet strapped to his head and his sniper rifle in his hands. "What are you all still doing here!?" He was furious with them.

"We have to wait on the next Jeep – where is it?" Alice asked, grabbing her bag of medical supplies as Joanna offered it.

Bucky grabbed her arm fiercely, pulling her a step away from the other two nurses. "There are no more Jeeps – the Krauts killed the engines on ours."

 _Oh, fuck_.

Now she understood his fury. "Get going!" he ordered, vanishing into the fog with the report of his rifle echoing around them – or was that just the battle growing around them?

Alice tucked her lip and whistled – the sound cutting the air crisply. She heard a crack of wood and Grani's whinnying answer, the thunder of hoof-beats signaling his arrival in a matter of seconds. She grabbed the reins and dug her heels in to stop him from rushing past her, and he stomped at the ground, eyes wide with fright.

Alice helped Joanna to mount the large horse, and Gloria hesitated to take Alice's assistance, her hands still pressed to her patient's shoulder. "I'll take him," Alice volunteered, and to her credit Gloria hesitated.

"Where's the Jeep, Alice?" she asked seriously.

"It's coming," she lied, taking the soldier's arm and the dressing from Gloria's hands. "What's your name, honey?"

"P-Private Tim Riley," he replied shakily. His face was pale and he seemed to be wearing most of his blood on his shirt.

"I'm Alice – do you know how to ride a horse?" she whispered quietly as Gloria mounted the horse behind Joanna.

"No, Ma'am," he replied.

Alice nodded. "That's ok – you're going to pass out in a second anyway."

"Alice?" Gloria asked, having settled behind Joanna on Grani's back. Alice hesitated, finding the glimmer of fear in Gloria and Joanna's eyes as a reflection of her own.

"Grani can carry three people at most," she murmured to herself, catching Riley's sagging form.

" _Alice_ ," Joanna yelled, "what are you waiting for?!"

"Take the Private; I'll wait for the next Jeep," Alice finished, her voice steadier than she felt. She hauled Riley over Grani's back like a sack of potatoes in Joanna's lap. "You need to tell the 111th to pack up and move – the Front is coming."

Before her friends could protest further, Alice stepped back. _"Flyja!"_ Alice slapped the war horse on the side and Grani took off like a silver bullet into the darkness. _The Germans probably won't shoot a nurse_ , she thought, watching her friends disappear.

Bucky seemed to be developing an _Alice-is-doing-something-stupid_ sixth sense, as he appeared from the mist. " _What the hell are you doing?_ " Bucky yelled, his eyes practically bugging out of his face. He grabbed her arms and shook her, as if he could shake sense back into her. _"Have you lost your mind?"_

"They won't shoot a nurse," she said to herself, not trying to get out of his hold, trying to make herself believe it. "They won't shoot a nurse..."

" _Goddamn it, Alice!"_ he roared, and pulled her towards the cover of the foxholes. "Of all the idiotic, _suicidal-_ " he slammed a helmet down on her head and fastened the clip under her chin roughly. "Stay down!" he yelled as a mortar erupted nearby

Dum Dum slid into the foxhole at a jog right as Alice finished fiddling with the straps. "There's gotta be at least five more companies out there," he said, but did a double-take as he found Alice crouching next to a furious Bucky. _"What the hell, Alice!?"_

"Radio B-Company, tell 'em we need cover!" Bucky yelled to the Comms-man – Private Jones, if Alice remembered correctly.

"That might be tough," Jones yelled back, swinging around the portable radio to reveal that it was a smoking piece of destroyed parts.

"Bucky, behind you!" Dum Dum warned.

Bucky tucked his shoulder and turned, swinging the rifle over Alice's head and shooting a German that had nearly snuck up on their position. Alice tried to stay as small as possible as her friends fired into the misty darkness while mortars rained like hellfire all around. The whistling screech set her blood on fire, and the shaking of the earth rattled her bones.

"Here they come!" reported Bucky.

A mortar blast tore through the air and blew Dum Dum's hat off. Alice caught it before it blew away – he just _couldn't_ lose that hat. He loved that hat.

"I hate these guys," Dum Dum panted as Alice brushed the dirt from his bowler hat and handed it back to him with a weak smile. He jumped to the opposite end of the foxhole with Jones and Bucky, firing into the crowd of approaching enemies.

They seemed to be holding their own and Alice's heart surged as she covered her ears to protect them from the harsh barrage of noise. But an unexpected sound joined the chorus – an electric, metallic report that didn't sound right at all. It was accompanied by lightning-flashes of blue light whose source she couldn't identify from her position low in the foxhole.

Alice couldn't see Bucky's face, but she could see his crouched firing frame slacken slightly. She could see his head rise in a combination of curiosity and confusion. Dum Dum and Jones followed, sharing brief glances she could finally see the confusion, mixed with a hesitant fear.

"What the hell was that?" Dum Dum asked.

They stood to climb out of the foxhole, and Bucky shot Alice a commanding look. She didn't need for him to give the order, she knew what it meant. She crawled to the other side, just peeking her head over the edge as she heard an engine crest the hill.

"That looks… new," Dum Dum mused.

The huge tank seemed vastly out of proportion with the soldiers walking beside it. It turned the huge turret towards them, and an icy blue glow began to grow in the barrel.

" _Duck!"_ Bucky pushed Alice further down into the foxhole as a shooting star blazed six inches above their heads. Alice's face was ground into the dirt as Bucky covered her body with his – the second time that night – to protect her from the explosion.

He gave her a quick once-over as soon as the danger passed, turning her over and patting her face as if reassuring himself that she was in one piece. "I've never seen anything like that," Alice offered weakly.

"I'd hazard a guess no one has, L.T.," Dum Dum replied. "What do you think, Buck? They came armed to the teeth and I'm not quite ready to cash in my chips, you know?"

" _Ergeben Sie sich und Sie werden nicht geschadigt werden!"_ The German spoke through a speaker of some kind, the crackly voice amplified over the now-quiet battlefield. " _Kapitulation jetzt!"_

"They want us to surrender," Jones translated. "Say they won't hurt us if we surrender."

"Buck." Dum Dum glanced at Alice, then back at Bucky with meaning in his gaze.

Bucky clenched the stock of his rifle tightly until the wood groaned in his grip. "Yeah." He handed the rifle to Dum Dum and slid down next to Alice. Bucky unclipped her helmet with shaking hands, and pulled her braid loose from its place pinned around her head.

"What are you doing?" Alice asked, but held still.

"They need to see that you're a nurse," he explained, cupping his hands around her face and brushing away the dirt.

Alice frowned. "Why-"

"Because we're about to surrender, Alice," Dum Dum explained softly. "And we really, really don't want you to get shot."

* * *

A/N: So Alice pretty much has completely ignored what Cable told her to do and now is knee-deep in shit. Food for thought, though – did he know that she would once she saw the scale of suffering, and in essence gave her a list of places she _needed_ to go?

Text for the Battle of Azzano was stolen directly from the deleted scene itself! Hooray for youtube.

Many thanks to my reviewers: SabakuNoGaara426 and AquaBluey (to be fair, it's only been like four hours since my last chapter - WHAT DID I DO WITH MY DAY?)

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**

This is my last chapter for a little while, as **The Angel of Azzano Part 2** is going to take a while to get written. I hope you've enjoyed this very Steven Universe-esque week of getting a post every day after not getting one at all for a while. Your patience (and reviews!) are welcome. Feel free to post questions in your review as I tend to answer them.


	18. The Angel of Azzano, Part II

**November?, 1943**

Alice sat in complete darkness, her knees pulled up to her chest. The cold floor sucked the heat from her body no matter how much she rubbed at her appendages, and a deep hunger rumbled in her stomach. But Alice Shaw wasn't worried. Alice Shaw was planning.

A week in the dark for protecting a prisoner. A week in the dark for causing trouble for the Austrian factoy.

 _A week alone, Fräulein, might do your manners some good._

She could still hear the pained grunts of a man on the ground, and feel the swell of fury in her chest. She could still feel Bucky's hand on her shoulder, trying to stop her from doing something stupid. She could still feel the _crack_ of her boot against the back of the German guard's knee, and the fire of her scalp as she was pulled back again, and the rain of fire that pressed upon her body in the form of an electric shock.

" _She's a nurse, damnit!_ " someone had yelled. " _Non-combatant! Kein Soldat!_ _Kein Soldat!"_

And she was dragged away into the dark.

To solitude.

To plan.

Alice knew that the guards were expecting her to crumble into hysterics, so she provided them with that little bit of theatre every so often. " _Please!_ " Alice would cry, beating her fists against the steel door. "You have no use for dead soldiers!"

Silence.

Always silence.

Alice paced her tiny room from edge to edge, did laps, did push-ups; anything she could to keep her mind occupied. She would list off plants in her head, and do a mental inventory of everything in her confiscated bag.

 _Nettle_

 _Plantain_

 _Chamomile_

 _Feverfew_

 _Mint_

 _Dandelion_

 _Wood sorrel_

 _Yarrow_

 _Black Willow_

 _Stinking hellebore_

 _Soapwort and Marshmallow_

And Alice plotted.

She knew that her week would end, and that the German commanders would need her eventually. She hadn't seen a single other medical professional in the place, and the way they were running the factory someone was bound to get hurt at some point. Alice despaired at the knowledge that the Germans wouldn't care if a POW got injured, and while she was in solitary confinement she wouldn't be able to help. But she knew she needed to bide her time – eventually, inevitably, there would be an accident. Eventually, the Germans would ask for her help.

Patience.

Plotting.

Preparation.

She repeated her list, lips moving subtly in the dark.

 _Nettle_

 _Plantain_

 _Chamomile_

 _Feverfew_

 _Mint_

 _Dandelion_

 _Wood sorrel_

 _Yarrow_

 _Black Willow_

 _Stinking hellebore_

 _Soapwort and Marshmallow_

* * *

Alice was willing to bet all of her money in 2010 that she was in solitary confinement for more than a week. She was also willing to bet that they thought she would die in there. _Joke's on you, chucklefucks._ When the door finally opened Alice winced and covered her eyes against the rough assault of light.

" _Aufstehen!_ " the guard commanded, waving up with his free hand. The other was occupied with a rifle.

Alice scrambled to her feet, her balance failing her for only a moment. "What do you want?" she asked, forcing a nervous tremor into her voice. The soldier didn't answer, only reached into the small cell and seized her by the upper arm, dragging her out of solitary.

The area was mostly unfamiliar, as she had only been half-conscious when they carried her to the cell, and Alice tried to keep keen attention now. The guard marched her down metal grate stairs a little too fast for her legs and she stumbled to stay upright.

Murmurs of conversation reached her ears and she realized that they were passing through the POW holding area. Hundreds of eyes fell on her – American, British, and French soldiers alike burst into outrage at the mishandling of a lady.

"What the hell are you doing, ya fuckin' Kraut?"

"Unhand the lady!"

" _Comment osez-vous blesser une dame?!"_

The German guards had little tolerance for the noise, and the electric warning of their Tasers charged to life. _"Ruhig!_ " they commanded. Cries of pain were few, and Alice was grateful.

She kept her eyes peeled, trying to make a mental note of the injuries she saw, and the general condition of the prisoners. She would need to be specific with her bargaining.

Alice tugged against the guard's arm as she passed a cell with a very familiar face. Dum Dum Dugan was pressed against the bars, his expression a complex mix of relief and concern as Alice passed the little birdcage-like cell. She tried to pause to greet him, but the hand around her upper arm tightened and she thought better of fighting it. She mouthed _I'm okay_ , trying to appear reassuring.

He didn't look convinced. As an afterthought, she realized she probably didn't _look_ okay. Her hair was snarled and knotted from sleeping on the stone floor, and her clothes were disheveled. But her face was clear; no bags under her eyes that implied abuse, no sallow or waxy skin to give away the starvation she had endured.

She stumbled up another set of stairs and down a series of dizzyingly maze-like halls, doing her best to keep her feet under her as the soldier's pace far outstretched her own. They entered a room in the middle of a hallway, and the door shut behind her. Her eyes darted around the room, assessing the space and the occupants in a heartbeat.

There was her original guard, the bloody pulp of a human on a table, and a short, round man in a labcoat. He didn't appear to be trying to help the injured officer. _So, not a medical doctor then._

The short man paid her little more than a glance, his attention occupied by a large sheaf of papers. "You are an American nurse, no? Heal him," the short man commanded in sharp, accented English.

Alice shoved her hands in her pockets and tilted her head back, jutting out her chin in a very Barnes-like gesture. "No."

Now she had his attention. He frowned from behind a set of thick glasses. "No, you are not a nurse?" he asked, his voice crisp with disdain.

"No, I will not heal him," Alice clarified.

"I could have you shot where you stand, if you prefer." Alice's guard slipped a pistol from its holster.

Alice didn't blink. "You won't. You clearly need me – and I'll help you if you give me what I want."

The doctor sighed, adjusting his glasses. "And that would be…?"

Alice's tone was hard. Cold. "I want to see the prisoners you're keeping."

The doctor ground his teeth irritably. "I make no promises."

"Neither do I." Alice nodded towards the patient on the table. "He's clearly been crushed. It might be beyond my abilities with my limited supplies."

"If you fail, it will not be pleasant. While you work, you will have the access you seek." He gestured with an open hand to her satchel on a table to his left. "Your supplies."

"What's his name?" Alice asked, moving towards her new patient.

The doctor turned away. "Lohmer. He was crushed by a crane."

Alice nodded, reaching into her bag. "You don't have any medical supplies here?"

"This is a factory, not a hospital." Alice wasn't fond of his dismissive tone at all, but didn't comment.

The patient groaned. _"Ich werde_ Barnes _toten."_

Alice paused, her hand resting between two very different jars in her bag. She didn't know a lot of German, but she did know the word for 'kill'. "Eat this," she instructed as she put a large handful of leaves in the patient's mouth. She opened a second jar and a foul smell rose from within. "This is a poultice for his wounds," she explained, though the doctor didn't seem interested.

Alice leaned low, whispering as clearly and quietly as she could in Lohmer's ear. _I hope this hurts while it kills you._

She straightened as his eyes widened in fear and pressed on the poultice of old soapwort and marshmallow – a thoroughly ineffective treatment – wrapping it in place. Lohmer tried to spit out the leaves she had put in his mouth, but the effects were already starting to sink in.

Alice didn't feel a thing. "This will take some time to sink in. May I see my comrades in the meantime?"

* * *

"This one," she pointed at a cell and her guard unlocked the grate.

"L.T.!" Dugan cried with joy as she was shoved into their little birdcage. "Good to see you!" He wrapped her in a tight bear hug, lifting her off the ground with his enthusiasm.

"You too, Sergeant," she grunted, barely able to breathe.

"Where they been keeping you?" he asked, releasing her.

Alice coughed to get her breath back and ran a hand through her hair. "Not too sure, but it wasn't the Ritz if you know what I mean." She looked around the cage at more than a few new faces. "And who are we?"

"Jim Morita," he held out a hand to shake.

"James Montgomery Falsworth, at your service," the British officer greeted cordially.

"Dernier, _Mademoiselle_ ," the Frenchman tipped his head in a respectful nod.

Dugan squeezed Alice's shoulder. "Fellas – this is Second Lieutenant Alice Shaw of the 111th Field Hospital in Italy."

"You're a little far from the nest," Morita commented.

"I have a habit of flying the coop," she replied. "How is everyone?" Alice asked quietly.

Dugan shook his head. "Not so good, L.T.; they're working us to the bone on God only knows what. Their doc keeps taking people and not giving 'em back." He grumbled, and as evidence of that nodded to the far, dark side of their cage.

"Alice," a hoarse voice came from the dark.

"Bucky," Alice breathed in relief, rushing to crouch beside him. "You don't look so good."

He really didn't. His pale skin shimmered with sweat, and deep purple bags hung under his eyes. "I didn't have a nurse around to bother me," he chuckled, and it morphed into a cough. Alice pulled him into a slightly better seated position, sitting behind him.

Alice pressed her ear to Bucky's back, listening to his lungs. "Breathe deep for me, no smart jokes." For once, he did as she ordered. She could heard the faint crackling in his lungs that signaled the onset of pneumonia. _Damn._

"It's starting to get cold at night – no chance at some extra blankets, I imagine?" Alice asked. Dugan shook his head. "Alright – some feverfew will have to do the trick for now." She reached for her bag by the door, the guard watching tried to seize it.

" _Nicht fur gefangene,"_ he snarled, but Alice beat him to the bag, diving her hand inside. She set down a series of jars next to Bucky, each containing a tight collection of dried plants.

"Chew no more than three small leaves each day, or one large one. I'm sorry they won't taste very good" she said in a rush, pressing the jar of feverfew leaves into Bucky's hands. "In case they don't let me come back."

"Don't let – _Alice_?" Bucky's voice trembled with dread and he reached for her, wobbling a little from the effects of his pneumatic fever.

Alice caught him and helped him lean back against the bars. She smoothed his hair back from his sweaty face and gave him a soft smile. " _Shh,_ it'll be alright. I've got this – you focus on beating that cough, you hear me?"

The guard was rattling his keys, searching for the right one. It only took him a few moments and he opened the door, charging up the Taser. " _Zeit zu gehen,_ " ordered the German, reaching for Alice.

Her vision was instantly obscured by a pair of broad shoulders. "I think the lady's dance card is full, buddy," Dum Dum crossed his arms as he concealed Alice with his form.

"Step aside," the soldier hissed in a thick accent.

"It's alright, Dum Dum," Alice said, rising from her crouch next to Bucky.

Bucky caught her arm, and she felt something cold and metallic slide up her sleeve. His eyes were clearly worried and flitted nervously across her face. "You sure, doll?" His thumb stroked the delicate skin of her wrist, leaving it tingly.

"I'll be fine." Alice nodded. "I'm sure I'll see you soon," she promised.

She passed Dugan, clasping his arm much like Bucky had done moments before. He put a hand over hers, his eyebrow raised. "Take care of everyone," Alice ordered, her hand slipping away, leaving a small piece of folder paper under his hand.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, watching as she was led away by the guard.

Dum Dum waited until they were out of sight before unfolding the paper.

"What's that?" Morita asked, peering around Dum Dum's shoulder. "Escape route?"

She had scribbled her notes quickly, but her handwriting was clear. "Doctor's orders," Dugan replied, handing Morita the note as he went to check the jars that Alice had left next to the weakened Bucky.

 _Plantain on cuts – mash and apply under a wrapping._

 _Wood sorrel for thirst and upset stomach – chew slowly._

 _Black willow for pain – chew as needed._

 _Yarrow to prevent frostbite – take as little as possible_

* * *

A/N: I guess I lied about it taking a while? Today is my last full day in a hotel room until January, so I figured I'd just take the time to CRANK THIS SHIT OUT. Honestly, if I didn't have ten uninterrupted hours to write this, it would have taken a LOT longer.

Alice is a cold, cold woman when crossed, and fiercely protective of her boys. She essentially put rotting plants (those remains of the soapwort and marshmallow she never got around to disposing of) on open wounds and fed him stinking hellebore – a toxic plant in high doses, and a medicinal plant for lowering blood pressure in low doses.

By contrast, since she doesn't think that Zola is going to keep up his end of the bargain she's giving her medicinal plants to Dum Dum and the men so they can keep themselves alive.

The officer that Alice is directed to heal is from canon comics – a brutal overseer that was working men to death. The Howling Commandos bonded over their mutual hatred of him and plotted to kill him – successfully saving Bucky from being worked to death after he contracted pneumonia. (Reference: _Captain America: First Vengance_ comic)

The next chapter will either be: **The Angel of Azzano, Part 3** or **The Joker, Berlin**

(it'll depend a lot on the content)

Many thanks to my reviewers: AquaBluey, Guest, TikiKiki, and WonderLoki!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**

I promise I'm getting right to work on Part 3! This is the really good stuff I've been just DYING to get to, so it's coming a little easier than I expected.


	19. The Angel of Azzano, Part III

**November? 1943**

Dum Dum Dugan considered himself a well-traveled man with stories and experience, but he hadn't met two love-struck idiots quite like Bucky and Alice before. Thinking back through their time as captives, even a casual observer would be able to trace a very short line from Bucky to Alice over and over again. But those idiots were the only ones who couldn't see that line.

They did their best to subtly hide Alice during the surrender, but the damn girl practically glowed in the dark with her light hair and fair skin. Everything was going just fine – Alice walking between Buck and himself; unarmed as they were, she was safe there.

Then she had to go and… go and be _Alice._

She spotted another soldier struggling to keep up with the group as they approached the gates of the hell-hole that was the Austrian Factory. Granted, it had been a good thirty-mile march deep into the forest, but their captors didn't seem to care as the poor private stumbled and bumped into a German soldier.

He was thrown to the ground, and the German he'd bumped into started immediately kicking him in the gut. And of course – _of course_ – Alice heard it. Her head had been on a swivel the entire march, and he and Bucky both had to repeatedly remind her in hushed tones to _keep her head down._ But of course she heard it, and broke free of her companions, rushing back to break the assaulter's goddamn _knee_.

Another German was on her in an instant, pulling her back by her hair as she shrieked in pain and shoving a Tazer against her back.

"She's a nurse, damnit!" Dum Dum yelled. "Non-combatant! _Kein Soldat! Kein Soldat!"_

They stopped hurting her, but she was dragged away to a separate part of the compound. Barnes was inconsolable and unpredictable after that. He got mouthy with guards on the regular, wearing his punishments on his face. He also developed a nasty cough that he just couldn't shake.

Dum Dum and his cellmates had to take it upon themselves to make sure he wasn't worked to death by the brutal overseer, Lohmer. Didn't end well for the Kraut.

Alice was gone more than a week, and Dum Dum had been preparing himself to just accept that she'd just been thrown in some mass grave pit when – it was just like Alice to make an entrance– she appeared. Men shouted up and down the hall in protest to her treatment, but she looked… remarkably alright.

Sure, her hair was ratty and her clothes all fussed up, but as she locked eyes with him and mouthed _I'm okay_ , he could see the fire in her eyes and the familiar stubborn tilt of her jaw. He watched until she was out of sight – no limp, no big bloody bruises, holding her head high – she was in the best shape of any prisoner.

"Alice?" Bucky croaked in the back of their cell, trying to stand but finding he didn't have the strength. "Was that Alice?"

"That or a freakin' Angel just landed in Austria," he replied.

She wasn't gone long, returning with an escort and _instructing_ them to open his cell. _Holy shit, Alice; what did you do?_ He embraced her as enthusiastically as he could, partially using the hug as a broken-bones-detector. She didn't shriek in pain so he deemed her fit enough to introduce.

"Jim Morita."

"James Montgomery Falsworth, at your service." Damn flirt of a Brit.

"Dernier, _Mademoiselle_." Frenchie was even worse.

But there was no greeting like Bucky's from the dark to catch the nurse's attention. If Alice had wings she would have flown through the air to get to him. Her voice was a special kind of soft for the sick man, helping him to sit up as she listened to him breathing.

From her position she couldn't see the relief that flowed down Bucky's form easing deep furrows from his face and doing more for his illness than they'd been able to provide all week. Bucky even reached back, trying to cover the hand on his shoulder with his own, but Alice moved away, speaking to Dugan.

She moved like lightning to her bag, seizing it away from the grasp of her guard and pulling out her plant jars, hiding them next to Bucky while soothing his panic. She held a certain sweetness for Bucky, and in return he could only find peace in her presence. It would have been sweet if not for the constant separation; that just made it painful to watch.

The guard found his key and advanced on Alice. Dum Dum was more than willing to take a few thousand volts for Alice, giving her the time she needed to keep Bucky alive. If Bucky was unpredictable when Alice was in danger, he didn't want to know what would happen if the tables were turned.

"Take care of everyone," she said, her hand on his arm. He could feel the paper pressed under her palm and quickly covered it. She gave him a meaningful look.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, hiding the note.

She looked back often as the guard led her away. She was looking past him, at Bucky of course. Dum Dum knew that the other Sergeant's face would be a portrait of agony. If he'd had more breath in her body, Dum Dum imagined that Bucky would have put up a fight to keep Alice by his side.

"What's that?" Morita asked. "Escape route?"

That would have been the best option, but not exactly Alice's skillset. "Doctor's orders," he replied, handing off the note. Alice had written out the basics of care with her scant supplies, seemingly predicting that it would be difficult for her to return. She was thinking a whole chessboard ahead, giving them the fire to light their own way.

They did okay with the plants as help and Bucky seemed to be holding onto the idea that Alice was also okay, just out of their view.

But then Bucky didn't come back from a shift. There was a gaping hole in the conversation, filled with a realization that their numbers were decreasing slowly as men dropped dead from exhaustion, or were picked off by Hydra's doctor; spirited away to the isolation ward. It cost him a busted lip to find out which one it was.

No one had ever come back, so they had no reference for what was happening. _You need to come back, Alice_ , Dugan thought each night, his face pressed against the bars as he willed her to appear. _Need a little more of that magic._

It took a few days, but she did reappear. She had straightened her hair a little, and she fiddled with the sleeves on her jacket as she directed the guard to open Dum Dum's cell again.

"Heya, L.T. – we get you for more than thirty seconds today?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

She smiled tightly. "Remains to be seen, I'm afraid. How is everyone? Did the plants help?"

"See for yourself," Dugan spread his arm to the wider hall, and many faces turned to smile at the little nurse. The general aura of misery had lifted ever so slightly, and whispered thanks filled the air until her guard banged on the wall with his Taser.

The men seemed to be in fair spirits – a Morita and Jones were playing cards on the floor, flipping the old Bicycle cards into a pile. A Queen of Spades landed on the top of the pile. Big sunflowers were drawn poorly around her head in a noxious blue ink.

Alice looked at the card, and frowned like it meant something to her. "Where's Bucky?" Her voice was light and confused. "Did they change his cell?"

Dugan hesitated, not sure how to explain without upsetting her.

"Dum Dum," Alice pressed. " _Where is Bucky_?"

"Alice," he said softly. "I'm sorry – the doctor took him and-" Alice roared in fury, slapping Dugan across the face and revealing a surprising amount of strength coiled in that tiny frame.

"Hey!" Morita cried, grabbing Alice's arms as she started to pummel Dugan as hard as he could – he didn't try to stop her, just shielded his face from further fury.

" _How could you let them take him?_ " she screamed, her voice cracking.

"Alice, you need to quiet down," Dugan said soothingly.

Alice squirmed like a wet eel in Morita's grasp, wriggling out of his hold easily to continue her assault on Dugan. This time he caught her hands and wrapped her in a tight bear hug to contain her flailing arms as she yelled and fought against him. " _Shh_ ," he whispered and she swore and kicked at him, scraping the hell out of his shins. "Alice, _please_."

" _Fuck you!_ " Alice screamed, tears streaming down her face.

" _Ruhig da druben!"_ a guard shouted. A sharp ring of metal on metal sounded as he banged on their cell's door.

Dugan swiftly pulled her behind him, trying to act as a shield. "She's not causing any trouble, Fritz."

The German didn't understand, or didn't care as he produced keys, unlocking the door and charging up his Taser. _"Sei leise ode rich mache dich leise,"_ he snarled.

The guard loomed closer, and Alice broke out into an evil, hysterical laugh. "Don't you know who I am?"

"Alice, quiet," Dugan tried, but Alice forced herself in front of him.

The guard hesitated, and Alice poured on the drama. "I'm the Wicked Witch of the Western Front, and I put a _curse on you!"_ She pointed an authoritative finger at the soldier twice her size.

The guard reeled back, clearly perturbed. _"Verbrenn die Hexe!"_ he shouted, pointing directly at Alice.

"Oh that can't be good," Alice hissed, ducking back behind Dugan.

 _No shit._ Alice couldn't be trusted to think clearly, just as Bucky couldn't be trusted to think clearly where Alice was involved. "I think you're right about that – no chance you're hiding a pistol in that magic bag of yours?"

Alice shoved a hand into her pocket. "No, but I've got something better!"

"Better make it fast, L.T.," Dugan put himself between her and the guard as he charged up his Taser.

"Move, Sergeant!" Dugan ducked to the side as Alice opened the cloth with a swift tug of string, flattening the fabric on her palm. A fine, crushed powder spread across the open cloth and she took a deep breath before blowing the entire contents into the German guard's face.

The guard's eyes may have been covered with goggles, but his nose and mouth were exposed. He gasped slightly as he recoiled from Alice's attack, inhaling the fine powder. He lashed out, managing to land a swift backhand across Alice's face. Her head snapped to the side, launching her across the cage and slamming her head into the metal bars. She collapsed to the ground just like a human being shouldn't.

The guard paused, then coughed. Then he coughed again, a hand scratching at his throat. The guard sank to the ground, dropping his Taser-rod as he coughed and clutched at his throat. He was hauled off by two other guards, screaming profanities in German, coughing and gasping for air.

Dum Dum watched in amazement before turning to help Alice stand. "Jesus Christ Almighty, L.T. – what the Devil was that stuff?"

"Powdered stinging nettle barbs." Her voice was slightly slurred, and she blinked repeatedly like she was trying to clear sleep from her eyes, and she held a hand to her head where it had been cracked on the bars. "Crushed it up… Bucky's knife…" Said knife slipped from her sleeve, jangling against the concrete floor.

"You really scare me sometimes," Dugan chuckled, but stopped when he saw her wobbling to the side. "Hey – your head's bleeding, are you ok?"

She withdrew the hand, revealing a huge splotch of scarlet blood. It began to drip down the back of her neck. "I think…" Alice mumbled, her eyes unfocused. "I think I'm-". Her eyes rolled back and she sagged against the bars.

"Easy there," Falsworth caught her before she cracked her head on the ground, and eased her down smoothly.

"Dammit, Alice – not a great time to pass out on us," Dugan swore, patting her cheeks. An unsettlingly large blood stain was growing under her head, even taking into account how badly heads tended to bleed.

"Is there any of that Plantain left?" he called down the hall. The jar was passed from cell to cell until it returned to the original owner.

"Is there enough?" Jones asked, holding the jar open for Dum Dum.

"Fuckin' better be," Dugan grumbled, crushing the leaves with the knife Alice had dropped. As an afterthought he slipped the knife into his boot – better storage than Alice's sleeve. He pressed them to her head, trying to find the cleanest piece of cloth to hold the plants in place.

He was distracted, however, by a guard falling onto the top bars of their cage. All five men looked up, trying to process the new information

They stood as a figure crouched over the guard, fumbling with the keys.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Jones asked, putting words to the question they all had.

"I'm… Captain America?" the voice sounded hesitant, but definitely American.

"…I beg your pardon?" Falsworth asked.

The Captain unlocked the cells and prisoners poured into the vacant space of the hall. Dugan hoisted the unconscious Alice into his arms, her head lolling limply forward, smearing blood against his shirt. The Captain's eyes grew wide. "You've got a nurse with you?"

"Yeah, and she's bleeding everywhere so can we get out of here?" Dugan snapped.

"Is there anybody else?" he hissed. "I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes."

Falsworth pointed. "There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it."

The Captain nodded. "All right. The tree line is northwest, eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell. I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find."

Jones called out to him. "Wait! You know what you're doin'?"

"Yeah," he didn't seem sure even as he jogged backwards a bit, headed towards the Factory. "I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times."

Dugan wasn't convinced, but he had other things to worry about. "I need volunteers to help the Lieutenant –" Dum Dum didn't need to ask twice. He had a dozen volunteers before he could finish his question, all lives saved by Alice's plants.

Four men made a quick stretcher out of a blanket held taut between pairs, nestling Alice carefully between them. They didn't have any number of weapons to start their assault – other than the single gun from the knocked-out guard – just sheer, overwhelming numbers.

"Wait until it's clear – we'll come back around for you and Shaw," Dugan ordered.

 _Into the breach._

* * *

A/N: Giving credit where credit is due, many thanks to Sanguinary Tide for their help with this chapter! They requested a sort of recap of the last chapter from one of the boys' POV, and it worked out really well to just do the whole chapter from Dum Dum's POV.

(See – writing reviews does great things!)

Just getting ahead of a question: If Alice knew that Bucky had to be experimented upon, why did she freak out so badly? Since this chapter was originally in Alice's POV but switched, I'll just tell you; she's afraid she changed too much, and Buck's gonna die. She worries about it all the time.

 **A note on translations:** for any story where part of the entertainment value is that both we and the character don't know what people are saying, I don't offer translations. If you don't like that, Google translate is really easy to use. For parts where you, the reader, will get an additional level of enjoyment from the translation, I offer translations. For example, in future chapters Dernier and Bucky will argue a bit in French, which Alice doesn't speak. For that, I plan to offer translations because it's flipping hysterical.

Many thanks to my reviewers: AquaBluey, Sanguinary Tide, and otterton!

Next Chapter's Title: **The Joker, Berlin** and PREPARE YOUR BODIES FOR SOME ANGSTY FLUFFY GOODNESS

 **PLEASE REVIEW! (and you could change the world)**


	20. The Joker, Berlin

**A/N: sor** ry for the forward note – my apologies if this is a little hard to follow, as it jumps around a lot in the timeline. It was the best way, I think, to express the jumbly sort of feelings involved.

* * *

 _ **Seventy Years in the Future…**_

Once he knew Alice Shaw belonged to the 111th Field Hospital, Arnold was suddenly finding evidence of her presence all over western Italy. From the war photographer mislabeling her as with the 107th, to the just-out-of-frame photo of the nurses, she was in the far, far background of several other photos. In one, he even found her astride a large silver horse, chatting with the driver of a Jeep.

 _Curiouser and curiouser_ , Arnold chuckled to himself. _How far down the rabbit-hole did you fall, Alice?_

He branched out, following the nurses of the 111th from their rapid transfer to the 130th, and found Alice's name missing. Ingrid, Gloria, and Joanna all classified as transferred to the 130th, but not Alice.

 _Where are you, Alice Shaw?_ He pulled at his chin, and rolled over to where their scant files for the 130th lay tucked away in the dark. He pulled out the photos, flipping through them idly as he tried to find the mysterious blonde nurse.

There was a photograph, taken at around the time the soldiers from the Battle of Azzano descended upon the 130th in a wave. She was prominently featured in the photo, though she looked much worse for wear, her feet dangling from the back of a truck as she looked at an unseen face to her right, just out of frame.

It was Alice Shaw, no doubt, but a blocky, very familiar hand had written on the back.

 _The Angel of Azzano._

Arnold drummed his fingers on the desk before picking up his desk phone. "Madeline, can you come down to my office?"

* * *

 **November?, 1943**

Bucky's head was pounding, and he was somehow both freezing and burning up from the inside. He struggled against the tight restraints for lack of anything else productive to do. His voice was weak, growing weaker, interspersed with coughing. "James Buchanan Barnes… Sergeant… 32557038…"

"Can you tell me how you feel, Sergeant Barnes?" the doctor's crisp voice barely cut through the haze surrounding his thoughts.

"James…" he rasped. "Buchanan Barnes… Sergeant…" His throat was on fire, and while repeating the mantra gave him a stability of mind that acted as both anchor and lighthouse in the storm of sensation.

"If you could only cooperate a little," the doctor tried to wheedle, "I would be happy to provide you something to ease your discomfort.

Bucky clenched his jaw as a wave of nausea rushed over him. "Sergeant… 3255… 7038."

A sharp rap on the door took the doctor's attention away from Bucky. " _Doktor_ , _Herr_ Lohman has died," a soldier reported nervously.

Zola scowled. "Find the nurse. Shoot her."

 _Nurse,_ his brain repeated, bringing forth a collection of thoughts and sensations; a cool hand on his forehead, a natural scent of marshmallow and soapwort, and the corner of a smile. _"In case they don't let me come back."_

 _Alice._ Soft hands pressing a glass jar into his hands, and dark eyes glancing worriedly over her shoulder. _"Shh, it'll be alright."_ Tender skin of the inside of her wrist. " _I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll see you soon."_

" _No!_ " Bucky cried, struggling against the restraints. "Leave her alone!"His voice fell somewhere between begging and demanding, with desperation to match.

"Sergeant Barnes," Zola patted his arm soothingly, unconcerned with his struggling. "That nurse will be much less trouble for everyone in a deep, quiet grave. Now I suggest you settle down – this last injection will be less than comfortable." The needle prick in his arm was little compared to the ice that flowed into his flesh. Bucky groaned as the sensation multiplied, like a concentration of winter's chill raging against his bones.

He lost track of time as his sensations were consumed by a burning cold that never yielded to the comforting numbness of frostbite. _Yarrow, to prevent frostbite,_ Alice's note had read. He tried to imagine those words in her voice and found it took no effort at all. _Bucky_ , she sighed. _You don't look so good_.

"Alice," he moaned weakly.

"Are you hallucinating, Sergeant Barnes?" Zola asked, intrigued. There was a knock at the door again, distracting Zola from his observations. " _Doktor,_ The Kommondant wants you _."_

Zola sighed, setting down the empty syringe. "He demands results but does not give me the time to produce them," he lamented. "I will return shortly, Sergeant. Don't go anywhere," he chuckled to himself.

"Sergeant…" he parroted. "3255…7038."

 _You focus on beating that cough, you hear me?_ Alice whispered with a soft smile.

"Alice…" he breathed, shuddering. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Alice woke in the back of a truck she didn't recognize, the floor bouncing along below her. Her head was pounding, and she was somehow both freezing and burning up from the inside. Her head lolled to the side, and she swore she could feel her brains sloshing around inside her skull. She groaned, rolling onto her side – yet another mistake.

She had to get out – she had to get back to the doctor, to bargain for Bucky's life. What did she have to bargain? It was hard to remember – maybe if she actually fixed Lohmer? No - Lohmer had threatened to kill Bucky, so she couldn't do that. Her stomach rolled as she tried to think harder and move to a vertical position. The ground slowed to a less violent roll as hands grasped her shoulders.

She looked up at a friendly face – an American soldier. A face she remembered from the other side of a cage. _From the factory_ , her tired brain provided.

"…where?" she croaked, trying to sit up. The soldier's hands on her shoulders stopped her, which was probably for the best. "Hey now, Ma'am; don't get up – you got a real nasty knock to the head."

Alice raised a hand to find a cloth matted in blood to her scalp, and fingered a few mashed leaves poking out from the sides. _Plantain_? "What happened?" she waved off the soldier and sat against the side of the truck's bed, her voice growing in strength.

"We escaped!" the soldier chirped a little too loudly for Alice's headache. On closer inspection – once she stopped seeing double – he looked barely old enough to enlist. He had a nasty cut on his cheek.

"You need to clean that cut… wait… we escaped? How?" Alice asked, rubbing at her face. Blood flecks came off under her ministrations. She winced, also finding a mending bruise in the motion, maybe even a cracked cheekbone.

He waved his arms with enthusiasm. "Captain America broke us out, Ma'am! It was amazing – all the explosions, and the _tanks_ , and-!"

Alice wasn't listening. They had _left_. She had no hope of saving Bucky now – he hadn't been anywhere near the prisoners' cells. A numbness washed over her, bitter and cold. It tasted like ash and compliance. _I changed too much_ , the bitterness hissed. _He's dead. He died. I changed too much._

Alice gripped the side of the truck as it lurched to a stop. She leaned over the side and pulled the cloth covering away, catching the attention of a guard walking alongside the vehicle. "Why've we stopped?" she asked, glancing around the heavy gloom of the forest.

"Trying to get our bearings, Ma'am," he replied. "We're not familiar with this territory."

A soldier further ahead in what appeared to be the long convoy grumbled his two cents. "It'd be damn helpful if we had a map."

 _A map…_ _for Prisoners of War._ A light, the filament nearly burnt out from neglect, flared to life in Alice's mind. A vague recollection, from skimming through as much history as she could absorb in a short time period, screamed importance.

 _What is all of this junk? You've got like a dozen packs of cards in here. Some leftovers from the Red Cross._

"Where's Bucky's deck of cards?" she asked softly.

"Ma'am?" the soldier asked, not really hearing her.

 _You sure you've done this before? The paper on these is really thick – blame the Red Cross._

"I need Bucky's deck – the deck of cards!" Her frantic behavior caused many nervous looks to be shared around her. " _Now!"_ she ordered.

* * *

Bucky was just about holding it together. The shock of seeing Steve – _huge, strong, here_ – was overriding the grief lingering at the back of his mind.

That grief looked like Alice.

Maybe Dugan had been right.

Maybe Dugan had been right, and he should have said something to Alice.

But he was holding it together. He was next to Steve, a friend, and his fellow cellmates from the Factory, all gathered around the lead truck putting their heads together for a plan of retreat.

"We've got thirty-five miles of unmapped territory between us and the nearest forward base," Dugan's arms were crossed over his chest in irritation. Blood drenched the left half of his shirt, and Bucky couldn't help but wonder how he was standing.

Steve tapped a damaged transponder against the hood of the Jeep again, as if that would somehow make it less like a fancy paperweight. "If we head due west we're sure to cross into friendly territory."

"We're also sure to cross through less friendly areas," Farnsworth supplied.

A young Private jogged up to the group, stopped to salute Steve – who didn't look like he knew how to react to that – and turned to Bucky. "Hey Buck – you still have that deck of cards?"

"What?" They weren't moving, but it was not the best situation to play cards. "I think Jones has it."

"Yeah – here," Gabe fished the deck out of his pocket and tossed it to the Private.

He caught it easily, already jogging away. "Thanks!"

* * *

Alice was nodding off, even sitting upright. Her head pounded painfully with every heartbeat and reminded her that her insides were also upset about the situation. She was focusing on her plan – _could it really be that simple_ – and a chance at saving the many, when she couldn't save the few.

 _Bucky_.

She choked on a sob, forcing it down, deep deep down into a tiny box she could process later. _Much_ later. 2010, maybe?

 _You sure, Doll?_ His coarse voice haunted her. If Alice's head hadn't already been in a few fractured pieces she would have tried to beat the sound out of her memory.

A gentle hand touched her arm and she jumped, startled. It was the soldier she had ordered around, holding out a familiar deck. "Ma'am – the cards."

Alice accepted it gently, prepared to destroy her only physical memory of her friend. "Thanks – anybody have a canteen? And can I borrow a helmet?" The items were procured quickly, and Alice took the cards from their pack and submerged the entire deck of cards in water. The ink ran off of the Queen of Clubs, staining the pail a faint blue.

"Just wait for it…" Alice murmured to herself. She knew they were watching, sharing concerned glances between men. _She's lost it_ , she knew they were thinking. _Done scrambled her brains._

With shaking hands she reached into the water and took the ink-stained joker card out of the water. The soggy paper had started to separate at a corner, and Alice carefully peeled the layers apart. A short laugh choked from her throat, bubbling into a maniacal giggle.

"Ma'am?" a private asked hesitantly.

She turned the thin paper to show him the tiny square of map that had been revealed. "Berlin! They put _Berlin_ behind the joker!"

He seized the card, holding it up to the light. Alice pulled another card from the ink-stained water, peeling the layers apart from the corner. This time, a section of Austria was revealed. Then the Maginot Line.

Alice's hands were trembling uncontrollably as she was relieved of the makeshift bowl. "Yes, Ma'am. You should rest now; your head's bleeding again."

Was she? Alice gingerly touched at her head, finding a fresh rivulet streaming down her neck. "Just… just for a minute…" she muttered. Alice lay down on the truck bed with only her jacket as a pillow. The young soldier – barely old enough to enlist – sat beside her, a rifle nestled against his chest.

She sighed in relief, and her exhaustion reigned supreme once more. She let darkness wash over her, a calm and a warmth that whispered with a coarse voice. "Stay…" she whispered, wishing for a few more moments with a warm memory before she surrendered to grief.

 _Anything for you, doll._

* * *

"What if we send a forward squad to map out the terrain as we go, reporting back positions of enemy camps?" Steve suggested.

The private that had asked for Bucky's deck came running back, holding a rough piece of cloth in one hand and waving it like a flag. "Captain – we have a map!"

The entire leadership was taken aback, but Steve got his bearings the fastest. "What?! How?" The private spread the cloth on the hood of the Jeep. It was a scraggly thing, laid out on a cloth and tacked down at the corners with pins. "Are those playing cards?" he asked, pulling up one of the edges.

The private nodded, ecstatically excited. "Yes sir; Lieutenant Shaw said-"

 _Shaw._ The name cut through the tight packaging around Bucky's grief, giving it wings to lift his heart into his throat. "Alice?!" he barked, interrupting the private immediately. He had been so sure she was shot – _they had said_ – he had bottled away that feeling, that grief, packed it away neatly to unwrap later when he was alone. "Where is she?" he flew towards the young Private with fire in his eyes.

The young man recoiled. "Back of the convoy, sir, but-"

Bucky didn't hear him; he was sprinting back through the throng of men. Checking every bed of every truck, asking _is Alice here_ with a frenzied panic in his voice. He had to know, had to _see_ – everything in his memory told him that it was impossible. _But so is Steve_ , his heart beat loudly in chorus. _Alice is just as impossible as Steve_.

Each face that didn't have her sly smile added a stone to his stomach. Each broad shoulder that shrugged and shuffled along, calloused hands carrying German rifles, whispered doubt against the spring of hope that had barely sprung to life in his chest.

 _Alice Shaw? Lieutenant Shaw?_ He asked repeatedly. Finally, hands pointed back, pointed at the last truck of the convoy. Bucky grabbed the edge of the truck as he approached at top speed, using it to slingshot himself back and up into the bed.

A silence echoed in his head, matching the empty pit that opened inside him. Alice lay prone on the truck bed, limp and lifeless. Blood soaked the side of her head and had clotted in her hair. Bucky sank to his knees, his hand reaching for her shoulder.

"Alice?" His voice shook. Someone had tucked a jacket under her head as a pillow; the only sign that she had laid down, and was not among the dead.

She didn't stir under his touch.

"She took a bad hit to the head, Sir, but she's just resting now." Bucky hadn't even noticed the young private seated next to Alice, one of the strange new glowing rifles nestled in his arms.

"You're sure?" he asked, barely breathing.

He laughed a little, clearly not understanding Bucky's desperation. "She told me off for not cleaning some grazes, Sir; I'm sure."

Bucky gripped the side of the truck with both hands, his head resting between white knuckles. His lips trembled through a shaky prayer. _Blessed are you, Lord God…_ He could breathe again. The rushing of his own blood in his ears started to clear with every heaving breath, and he could hear Alice's breathing cutting through the silence as well.

 _Never a more glorious sound_ , he thought.

He turned his attention to her guard. "You'll look after her?"

He nodded once. "With my life, Sir."

* * *

 _ **Seventy Years in the Future**_

"So she was captured with the 107th – what happened to her after Austria?" Madeline asked, holding the photo delicately. "She just… disappeared?"

Alice Shaw mostly disappeared from records after the 111th Field Hospital was evacuated, and that had been a great bother to Arnold's research until he had found that photo. The handwriting alone provided such an interesting clue, such a fascinating possibility – it was a discovery worth getting downright _giddy_ about.

"That's just it," Arnold said excitedly. "That's _Dum Dum Dugan's_ handwriting."

Madeline's eyes widened in shock as she flipped the photo over again, scrutinizing the hand. "You're serious?" she pressed. _"The Angel of Azzano_ – that _sounds_ like one of his corny nicknames."

"I've read all his letters, I'm as serious as death," he confirmed. "I think she joined the Howling Commandos."

* * *

A/N: So the cards being a map is historically ACCURATE – the Red Cross and Bicycle Cards teamed up to make a series of HELLA SECRET cards for POW's that could be submerged in water to split apart and reveal a map of their surroundings. It was kept secret for years after the war as it technically was a violation of the Geneva Convention, as the Red Cross sent them directly to prisoners in care packages.

HOW BOUT THAT FLUFF, BOO

So yeah, they're both a little attached to the other. All of the lines that the other's sick/concussed head produces is from previous chapters. Traumatic events yields strong bonds (I mean just look at the Howling Commandos), and both Bucky and Alice were definitely flirting before Azzano.

Many thanks to my reviewers: AquaBluey, Sanguinary Tide, Ronnie. H, Love. Fiction. 2018, and FALLING-ANGEL24

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	21. The Howling Commandos

Alice was having a very nice dream. In her dream she was back at her farm, tending the horses at sunrise. A crisp autumn chill fogged her breath and nipped at her hands. Her heart was light and unburdened by grief. It was a very nice dream.

"Miss Shaw?" A hand shook her shoulder – very gently. "Miss Shaw, you need to wake up now."

Alice groaned, rolling onto her side to try to move away from the hand trying to wake her. The motion rolled her stomach and she bit her tongue. Her head pounded, reminding her of the recent concussive force that had tried to turn her brain into mashed potatoes.

"I'm up," she moaned. "I think."

The hands appeared at her arms again, and this time she didn't swat them away. "Sergeant Barnes sure is sweet on you," the private commented, helping her to sit up.

"Why do you say that?" Alice asked, her attention focused on keeping mostly vertical.

The private let go of her as she gripped onto the side of the truck and rolled to a standing position. "He gave me quite a fright – came to see you when you was sleepin'."

Alice's head snapped up so fast she nearly blacked out. She groaned, wobbling on her feet as the nauseating pain followed in a swift wave. "He's-" she swallowed what felt like half a pint of stomach bile. "He's alive?"

"Yeah," the soldier affirmed, then smiled. "Said the same thing about you."

"That… that is good news," Alice smiled feebly, managing with great assistance to keep her feet steady. The rest of her was another story. Her heart exploded to life, sending new beating agony through her head. Her stomach flipped entirely over, filling with cotton balls that immediately turned into butterflies. _I didn't ruin everything,_ she breathed a sigh of relief. _He's not dead._

Then she was filled with a new kind of dread; fear, complicity, and lies. She had become desperately attached to the 107th, and now they were going to disappear into the European theater, running towards danger. Now they were out of her reach – away from her protection.

She wobbled dangerously on her feet and the private seemed to think better of asking her to stand. "Just sit over here, Ma'am; you need some fresh air I think. We're nearly there."

Alice sat on the back end of the truck, her feet dangling over the edge as the truck rumbled slowly along the road. They had slowed to a crawl, as an enthusiastic crowd had gathered around the convoy, slowing the progress significantly. Someone was directing the traffic, glancing into truck beds and barking orders. He glanced at Alice, barked "130th F.H. for this one," and moved on.

"Wait," Alice tried to protest. "Can you tell me where my friends are?"

"Missy, I've got a lot of trucks to get through and I don't have time to chitchat." He made a spinny motion with his hand, seemingly signaling the driver of Alice's truck. The engine roared to life and the truck lurched into motion again, taking a sharp turn after it rumbled through the gate.

The camp jumped and tumbled by, and Alice tried to pick out the forms of her friends in the throng at the camp's main gate. She imagined, maybe, that she could see Bucky, standing next to a tall, broad-shouldered man she didn't recognize. She imagined, maybe, that he looked alright. She imagined it, maybe, through the occasional flash of a distant camera, that she saw him look her way. She imagined it, maybe, the way she had imagined his voice carrying her through to discovery.

* * *

The 130th Field Hospital was a long, bumpy ride from the forward base. Alice had to stop the driver several times so she could get out and vomit on the side of the road. Her head was a jumbling mess of thoughts and blunt trauma damage. Her healing factor was catching up, but that just meant that at that moment she was cycling through the steps of healing a little faster than normal. At that moment, it meant hurling her guts out in the dirt.

Alice's pride forced her to walk from the truck into the triage tent rather than waiting for a stretcher. _I'm not dead_ , she had grumbled. _I'll walk._

She regretted that decision a few minutes later, sitting in her assigned medical bay with her head hung low between her knees, trying to keep what little remained of a small amount of food in her stomach.

"Lieutenant Shaw," a voice called. A terribly familiar voice, laced with disdain and dislike

"Oh no," Alice groaned. "Anybody but you." She tilted her head to the side instead of lifting it, only to be rewarded with a sideways view of the disapproving stare of one Doctor Allen Fletcher.

"Haven't I been tortured enough?" Alice let her head drop back down as nausea bubbled up again, fighting down the urge to vomit.

"Lay back, please, before you fall over," Fletcher ordered.

Alice hadn't realized how much the room was spinning until she was flat on her back, watching the room tilt slightly from side to side. "I think I'm dizzy," she mumbled, rolling her head to the side as Fletcher sat at her bedside.

"I'm not surprised – you look like you almost lost part of your scalp. You've got exposed bone here," Fletcher pulled back the gauze, examining her head.

"That sounds nice," The softening of Alice's voice coincided with the narrowing of her vision, black creeping in at the edges. "I think I'll sleep now."

"I'll be done when you wake up." Alice could barely hear Dr. Fletcher; his voice was fuzzy and very far away.

"That's nice." Alice's voice was a sing-song chirp. "I'm sorry about your brother," she whispered.

The hands at her head paused briefly. "Me too."

* * *

A clear-headed Alice woke up much later in the day. Her head wasn't pounding so badly, and as she reaching up to touch her wound found it wrapped in tight, clean bandages.

Alice swung her legs over the side of the cot and found it much easier to stand without wobbling all over the place. She pulled on her jacket and winced – she would need to get a new one; those blood stains would never come out. But she wanted the warmth as she got her bearings around camp.

Before she could fly the coop, however, Dr. Fletcher returned.

"Miss Shaw, leaving so soon?" he asked, his voice less terse than she would have expected.

Alice shook her head slowly. "Just hungry – I wanted to look for the mess."

"I'll have a nurse bring you something to eat. Wait here," he ordered firmly, pointing at her cot.

Alice sat down as he exited, finding nothing better to do than fiddle with the hem of her jacket. Fletcher returned after only a minute, grabbing a little light and pulling up the stool next to Alice's cot.

"Look this way, please," he asked, shining the light in Alice's eyes. She winced, but cooperated as he checked her eyes, pressed gently against her scalp, and examined under her bandages. Fletcher didn't offer small talk, and Alice didn't ask for it. He finished his exam, scribbled a few notes on a pad of paper, and glanced up at Alice's curious face.

"Thank you," he said, his voice surprisingly free of spite. He drew his attention back down to his paper.

"For what?" Alice asked, confused.

He snapped the cover on the paper and slid it into his pocket. "Gloria, Jo, and Private Riley. That was a hard choice."

"Oh," Alice said lamely. "I guess so." She was having a hard time holding Fletcher's gaze. She had expected it to be just as furious as before, full of loathing and spite. But he seemed cool and collected; better than before. "Why are you being nice to me?" she blurted out.

"This is my bedside manner. Rest assured I will go back to despising you tomorrow."

"I don't think that's true," Alice contradicted. She chewed on her lip, trying to decide whether to offer an olive branch. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Fletcher held her gaze, judging her sincerity. Then he nodded, looking away. "He's the youngest in my family, was, anyway." Fletcher slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat as he stood. "He looked up to me. Wanted to join right after I did."

"It's alright to be sad," Alice reasoned. "I think it makes us human."

Fletcher shot her a wry grin. "You're not, from what I hear."

Fear shot straight to Alice's stomach and fire shot into her face. "Wh-what?" she asked. _They don't know about mutants yet, right? Not until the 1970's, I thought._

Fletcher picked up on her distress but misinterpreted it as confusion. "The Angel of Azzano – that's what they're calling you, right?"

Alice's fear was replaced by relief, then immediate irritation. It wasn't fair to everyone who had sacrificed their lives that she be lifted up like that. She had thrown a few plants around, threatened a few soldiers – so what?

"Hey, you can't-" an irritated voice was muffled by the canvas, but a scuffle ensued and three bodies forced their way through the entrance. " _Alice_!" came the cry from a trio of voices, and Alice was besieged.

" _Oof,"_ Alice grunted as she was smothered in hugs and frantic babbling melded into a hysterical puddle of women. "Hi guys- miss me?" Alice asked tentatively.

"I can't believe you!" Gloria yelled, all the while patting Alice's head and hugging her repeatedly.

"We thought you were gone for sure," Ingrid wept.

"I can't believe you come back," Joanna commented.

"Not sure if you're happy about that or not, Jojo," Alice replied. Joanna swatted her arm in response. _"Ow!_ Fine, Jesus, you missed me."

"Seems like you're in good hands," Fletcher moved to leave. "Give it another day, then you're free to take the trip," Fletcher added. "Keep your wound clean, you should be fine." He shot Alice a meaningful look, a respectful nod, and left the girls to catch up.

"Am I going somewhere?" Alice asked, confused.

Gloria pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, the edges well-worn from several foldings. "Orders from up on high, Alice – seven days R&R in London."

Ingrid further explained, "We all got our time after we were reassigned- the 111th joined the 130th when the Front moved. We hung onto your orders as a little memento, just in case..."

"We hung onto a big memento, too- he's been chewing away at every shrub we tie him next to," Joanna added with a smile, and Alice sighed in relief- she had been harboring no small amount of worry that Grant had either galloped off until he died of a heart attack, or had been assigned to some lazy officer. That was _her_ horse.

"But I don't need…" Alice murmured. "I don't need to go anywhere; I'd be much happier just getting back to work." Alice could distract herself with work. She could bury herself in it, and not think about losing her friends.

"Alice Shaw, if you don't take this leave and go have some _fun_ I will never speak to you again!" Gloria cried.

Alice blinked. "Who are you and what did you do with my friend?"

* * *

 **November 10, 1943**

Alice threw her suitcase almost vindictively onto the hotel bed. What was the point of seven days off if you spent a day and a half of it traveling at both ends? She understood all the zig-zagging across the water to avoid submarines and mines, but there was such a thing as _excessive._

The little hotel room was cramped, and it was more like a boarding-house than a hotel, but she had it all to herself. She flipped open the cover and frowned at the contents. "That is _not_ what I packed," Alice announced to the empty room.

Alice had packed her journals, a few little projects she wanted to finish, and a set of trousers with a few shirts. Very practical - she intended on using her time off to just hide from the world and relax.

Alice's suitcase did not have her journals.

Alice's suitcase did not have her projects.

Alice's suitcase had dresses in it.

They were not Alice's dresses.

Alice didn't own dresses.

A knock at the open door behind her startled the little nurse from her confused stupor. "I'm looking for the Wicked Witch of the Western Front?"

Alice spun, her face lighting up with joy. "Dum Dum! What are you doing here!?"

Dum Dum put on his best innocent-puppy face. "Alice! Wouldn't you just believe it; I was drawn to your angelic presence."

"Gloria told you I was here," Alice groaned.

"She also spent good money on a telegram to tell me to make sure you don't spend the whole week cooped up by yourself," Dum Dum confirmed.

Alice rolled her eyes. "I wasn't-"

"Sure you weren't, L.T. We'll be down at the pub on Hazelhurst Road – you should come!"

"We?"

"A few of us are getting together." He peered over her head at the open suitcase. "You got a nice dress in there somewhere, maybe?"

"Is this a trap?" Alice's eyes narrowed. "Are you in cahoots with Gloria?"

"What? No!" Dum Dum cried in dismay. "That would have required a very expensive series of telegrams to orchestrate. You think I'm made of money?" Alice was willing to bet that Gloria was. "Oh! By the way," he remembered, snapping his fingers. He put his booted foot up on her one lonely chair, and withdrew a knife. "I think you dropped this."

"I thought I lost it." She clutched it tightly and looked up with slightly weepy eyes at her friend. "I'm sorry I hit you; I wasn't myself."

"I know, L.T.," he patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Now-" he cleared his throat of what sounded suspiciously like emotion. "Don't take an age to get dolled up, you hear me? They might run out of beer in a town like this."

He left in a bit of a hurry. "We're in _London_ , Dum Dum!" Alice yelled down the hall. A few reproving glares came from other open doors. "Sorry," Alice hissed, retreating into her room.

She took stock of the new contents of her luggage, creating a picture in her head of what the week would have to become. There was a sweet green dress, and a soft blue one, but her favorite was a near-pastel canary yellow. It reminded her a little of California. Alice unfolded the yellow dress, smoothing out wrinkles from having been packed away for so long.

She wondered if Dum Dum would come looking for her if she didn't show up at the pub. _Of course he will,_ Alice scowled.

 _It could be worse_ , she reasoned, finding a makeup case hidden below the dresses. _At least this kind of ambush comes with supplies._ She scratched lightly at the nasty scabby mark running around her hairline, and started strategizing the best way to conceal it. _No bad reminders tonight._

* * *

Steve joined Bucky at the bar counter as the raucous crowd launched into a verse of _There's a Tavern in Town._ "See? I told you. They're all idiots." Bucky grinned, twirling his glass a little to stir the liquor.

"How about you? You ready to follow _Captain America_ into the jaws of death?" He grinned cheekily.

Bucky made a face. "Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I'm following _him_." He gave Steve a smug look. "But you're keeping the outfit, right?"

Steve considered it, glancing at the poster with his face on it. "You know what? It's kind of growing on me."

The chorus grew enthusiastically in the adjoining room – the several pints each man had downed was sure to be the cause.

"So," Steve drawled. "Are we going to talk about the girl?"

"What girl?" Bucky asked, tipping back the drink.

"The _girl,_ " Steve pressed. "'Alice'?"

"Nothing to talk about," he deflected. "Got a little doll-dizzy for a while is all."

Dum Dum slammed the pint glass down on the bar next to Steve, interrupting the conversation by belching loudly and waving down the bartender for a new one. "Hey – if we're going to do something this _monumentally_ insane, it wouldn't be a bad idea to bring a fella or two to patch us up."

"Have someone in mind?" Steve asked.

Dum Dum glanced over at the door, taking a brief double-take. "I've got a preferred Witch Doctor, yeah." The eyes of his comrades followed.

A lady had entered the pub dressed in canary yellow, her hair softly curled around her porcelain face. She held a clutch tightly in small hands, and looked distinctly uncomfortable in the pub. Bucky shoved his chair back so hard the wood screeched on the floor and strode at nearly a jog across the room. He stopped abruptly in front of the smaller woman, his hands clenched tight as he stared down at her with a flaming intensity.

"Who is that?" Steve asked Dum Dum.

"That's _Alice_ ," he replied with a devious grin, grabbing another beer.

* * *

"Hi," Alice offered, smiling timidly. Her hands were clenched in a vice-like grip around her little purse and she was suddenly very grateful for it.

"Hi," Bucky replied.

The silence hung between them like a brick wall, breached only by the music from the piano, drifting through a nearly solid space.

"Are you okay?" Alice asked, her eyes flickering across the bruises on Bucky's face. W _hoever treated these bruises did a shit job,_ she thought.

"I could ask you the same thing, doll," Bucky tapped his head, mirroring the rough scab barely concealed by her hairstyle. Alice knew it was still fairly ugly-looking, even though most of the internal damage was more than halfway healed.

Alice reached up to touch at it gingerly. "I made a bit of a ruckus when…" The sentence remained unfinished. "I got knocked out." She grinned. "I missed all of the fun stuff. I guess I should be grateful someone remembered to bring me along."

"Shaw!" Dugan interrupted, sweeping her up into the hug Bucky had been holding back. "You're not dead!"

"Oof – nope, still breathing!" Alice chuckled as best she could.

Dugan set her down somewhat heavily on her feet. "C'mon," he beckoned. "You need to meet _Captain America_ – he's got a favor to ask." Alice glanced over her shoulder as Dugan dragged her back to the table, making the briefest of eye contact with Bucky.

His face was… relief. Or was it… longing? She couldn't tell.

"You with me here, L.T.?" Dum Dum asked quietly, leading her through the crowded pub.

"Yeah, I'm good," she replied. "Who's this again?"

"Captain America – broke us out while you were enjoying your little nap," he supplied.

"Lieutenant Shaw?" Captain Rogers stood as she approached. He was taller than she had expected him to be, with shoulders nearly as wide as Grani's. _That's quite a super-soldier_ , she thought. _Makes sense, I suppose._

Alice wasn't sure if she should salute, but instead offered the same tired smile many of her comrades seemed to wear. "Captain America himself has invited me for drinks, I hear?"

"Yes Ma'am." His smile was warm and friendly; borderline innocently naive. "I would say I've heard good things about you, but this is the first I've heard of you."

Alice waved it off, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for him to follow.. "It's fine – not like I do anything important around here."

The Captain frowned a little as he examined her face. "Have we met?"

A wry grin quirked her lips to one side. "Briefly, so I'm told."

A wave of recognition broke over his face. "You're that nurse – the Angel of Azzano."

Alice turned a despairing look at Dum Dum. Steve hadn't known that brown could be such a cold color. "You are the absolute _worst_."

"Yes, Ma'am." His moustache twitched up in a smile. "First Lieutenant Shaw here doesn't like to think she's a good person," he hissed conspiratorially.

" _Second_ Lieutenant," Alice corrected.

" _First_ ," Dum Dum insisted. "For service 'above and beyond the call of duty', I believe it was?"

Alice grumbled darkly under her breath.

"Never seen a soldier upset about a promotion before," Morita commented.

Alice flipped her hair over her shoulder girlishly as she turned her attention to Morita. "Whenever we hang out, I remember that God really _does_ have a sense of humor," she retorted with a saccharine smile.

Jones roared with laughter.

"That was very brave of you, ma'am," Steve complimented.

She shrugged it off. "It's my job." She glanced across the pub as Bucky slowly joined them at the table, a look of reluctant resignation on his part threw her for a loop.

Bucky frowned at her as he sat down across the table. "They could have killed you-"

Alice interrupted. "So could a dedicated duck – they're not special." Alice saw the confusion form on Steve's face – _wrong century for the lingo, Alice_ – and quickly changed the subject. "What did you want to ask me, Captain?"

"Sergeant Dugan here mentioned that you might be interested in helping us take down more of those factories – keeping us in one piece, anyway." Alice glanced around the table, finding hopeful looks on many faces. Bucky's attention was focused intently elsewhere – a skinny girl at the piano in a pretty polka-dot dress.

She was hesitant. "Are you sure you don't want a doctor? I mean – I can't do all the same things."

"Alice can't do a lot of things – like stay out of trouble," Bucky grumbled.

" _Buck_ ," Dugan's tone had a distinct note of warning.

"Did you say something, Sergeant Barnes?" Alice snapped.

" _Il ne veut pas partager,"_ Dernier guffawed, and Private Jones laughed with him.

"What did he say?" Alice asked Jones.

"Uh – it doesn't really translate," Jones shrugged.

Bucky glared across the table. _"Vous ne savez pas de quoi vous parlez."_

Dernier held up his hands in surrender. " _Je n'essaie pas de manger dans ton jardin, mon ami."_

Alice looked at Dernier, Bucky, and Jones in quick succession. "Oh, that _definitely_ doesn't translate," Jones mumbled over the lip of his beer.

Alice's spine prickled with anger. "You know what?" she stood quickly, grabbing her purse from the table. She opened it with a snap, withdrawing Bucky's knife. The various men seated around her leaned back quickly, pulling their arms off the table as she threw it down, embedding the blade deep into the wood table. " _I'm in_."

Bucky looked slowly from the blade to Alice's furious face. She held his gaze, standing dominantly over the table. The rest of the table's occupants looked slowly from Alice to Bucky. Alice snapped her bag shut, turning her attention to Steve. "Dum Dum knows where to find me, Captain. I'm sure I'll hear from you soon."

She spun on one poorly-balanced heel, her dress twirling wildly and concealing her little wobble. She stalked out of the pub, weaving easily through the crowd on her way toward the door. She brushed past a curvy woman in red entering the pub, apologizing in a rush as she nearly knocked into her.

Dum Dum pulled Bucky's chair backwards, nearly unseating him. He gave Bucky a meaningful look, and then looked at the door and Alice's retreating yellow form.

" _Shit_ ," Bucky hissed, standing abruptly and grabbing his coat and cover from the chair.

Morita rolled his eyes. "At least now he's cooking with gas."

"What just happened?" Steve asked, wildly confused.

"Like I said," Dum Dum guffawed. "That's _Alice._ "

* * *

"Alice, wait!" Bucky called after her, running down the sidewalk.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Alice yelled, stepping off the curb to walk in the street. It was late enough the cars were mostly all parked anyway. "I thought I was the only one with brain trauma but you've clearly had yours removed entirely!"

"Listen, I just," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Can I walk you home?"

"Are you going to throw me under another bus along the way?" Alice snapped. "You're such an asshole! What did I ever do to deserve that?!" She snapped her fingers, as though realizing in that moment. "Oh, that's right - _nothing."_

Bucky winced, still following Alice as she stormed down the street. "Doll-"

" _No!_ " Alice stopped, turned, and stabbed a finger directly into Bucky's chest as he gained on her. "You don't get to call me that right after you behaved like a _child_ who got their hand slapped trying to take a cookie from the jar!"

A cab roared by, honking angrily at the two for standing in the street. Bucky pulled Alice up onto the sidewalk by her waist as it raced by, still honking.

They were closer than Alice wanted to be. She could feel a faint tremor in Bucky's hand as he held her tight at the waist, the sensation of his hand stroking her back barely registering through the layers of fabric. "I thought you were dead," he admitted. "More than once – I mean, we lose fellas all the time; that's war. But…" His face was very close to hers. "I thought you were dead." His eyes were full of meaning, speaking a language Alice couldn't interpret.

Alice couldn't think of a good excuse to step back. "I'm not dead. I'm right here, Sergeant," she said softly.

Bucky's face broke a little. "Couldn't you just-" He tried to run his hand through his hair – a nervous habit, definitely, but only succeeded in upsetting his cover, nearly dropping the crisp hat on the filthy ground.

Alice caught it mid-air – her coordination was definitely returning swiftly – and handed him the hat. " _Bucky_ ," she corrected herself, as gently as possible. "I'm not dead, and I won't allow you to treat me differently now; I'm the same person I was before Azzano."

"I'm saying you shouldn't've been there at all- you should've gotten out with Jo and Gloria." He somehow moved closer, and Alice was nearly pressed against him. "Please tell Steve 'no'," he pleaded.

Alice knew he was trying to tell her something not included in his emotional vocabulary or breadth of experience with women, but couldn't quite piece together what it was. "I can't," Alice replied wearily. She reached up, touching his cheek and covering the bruise there with her hand. Bucky leaned into her touch, his expression desperate. "I can't trust anyone else to keep my boys alive." She offered him a miserable smile.

She could feel the tension in his jaw under her hand. " _Alice_ -"

Alice put a finger on his lips, successfully silencing him. "I'll see you soon." She stepped back, and as Bucky took a step forward to follow Alice held up a hand to stop him. "Goodnight, Bucky."

The agony of turning away ripped her heart out. She would rather have been electrocuted again. She would rather spend another week in the dark, starving slowly away. She would rather hang from a flagpole by her hair. The sharp click of her heels echoed solemnly in the abandoned street, alone.

Bucky did not follow.

* * *

Translations:

" _ **He doesn't want to share**_ _,"_ Dernier guffawed, and Private Jones laughed with him.

"What did he say?" Alice asked Jones.

"Uh – it doesn't really translate," Jones shrugged.

Bucky glared across the table. _"_ _ **You don't know what you're talking about**_ _."_

Dernier held up his hands in surrender. " _ **I'm not trying to eat in your garden, my friend**_ _."_

Alice looked at Dernier, Bucky, and Jones in quick succession. "Oh, that _definitely_ doesn't translate," Jones mumbled over the lip of a pint.

* * *

A/N: my lovelies, I hope you like angsty romance.

A "cover" is the formal name for a military uniform hat.

Yes, the person in red Alice nearly knocks into is Peggy. Sadly, they will not be besties in this story. From everything I can see, the HC's don't sit down with Peggy until after Buck falls from the train and they're figuring out Schmidt's 'Valkyrie' plan. Not enough time together to be besties. Womp womp.

Did everyone's poor hearts break at the end? Bucky wants Alice around, but he can't reconcile that with his desire for her not to be in danger, so he acts like a contrary little asshole.

So much of Alice's offer to join the Howling Commndos comes from her reputation and experience, and just being _around_ the 107th. I really hope it comes across now why the rising action for this story, and Alice being in the right place at the right time, took TWENTY CHAPTERS to establish. Yikes.

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	22. Concealed Concern

Alice lay wide awake staring at the ceiling all night, her eyes wide with terror. It wasn't the worst thing for her to skip a night of sleep, but the terror racing through her veins was far from healthy. _What did I just agree to?_ Repeated over and over in her head at a volume conveying sheer, unadulterated terror.

Maybe, if Bucky hadn't been such a child, she would have given it more thought. This was intruding on _history_ , plain and simple. The commandos didn't have any female members, as best she could recall. She also couldn't recall how many soldiers backed up the famous members - it couldn't have just been Captain America and the handful that sat at the table. She just didn't remember, and despaired at the shortened timeline that had cut off her ability to expand her research-

Alice sat bolt upright in bed.

 _That bastard!_

 _That unholy bastard!_

* * *

"What do you mean, 'no'? Wouldn't it be the best place to get an idea of what I'm looking for?" Alice asked, her eyebrow raised.

Cable shook his head. "The Smithsonian isn't always the most accurate place to get information. Everyone one has an agenda, and theirs is definitely propaganda right now. Just stick to primary sources and you'll be fine. Look-" he checked the time. "Library should be open soon. That's a better use of time, and not so many tourists."

"This whole two week timeline feels kind of arbitrary," Alice mumbled.

Cable raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you getting cheeky?"

"Well it does!" Alice exclaimed. "Why is there such a rush, anyway, if time travel is involved? What's the difference between going tomorrow and going a month from now?"

"Catastrophic chain reaction is why. You don't go back at the right time, things don't happen in the right order, and two years from now everything goes to shit."

"And how exactly have you determined what is the 'right time' to go back?" Alice pressed.

Cable stared her down. "I'm from the future."

Alice threw up her hands in frustration. "You use that answer for everything!"

"Because it's the truth."

"What if I want a different truth- a specific truth where you don't hide details from me and give me the _whole picture_ of what's going on?"

Cable's face was devoid of emotion. "The world is a horrible, cruel, indifferent cycle of pain and suffering throughout time. Nothing we do will stop the inevitable heat-death of the universe as it withers away into a dull void."

"Maybe less of a whole-universe sized picture next time." Alice sucked a breath between her teeth. "Fine, let's go to the library."

* * *

Steve sat in the window of the pub, enjoying a few moments of peace with his newspaper before he threw himself into preparations. It had taken Bucky reminding him that he needed to take at least a _little_ time for himself-although he had suggested something involving a date with a dame- for Steve to admit he needed a few moments to himself in the morning.

He should have guessed that work would catch up with him - or that he needed to find a different place to enjoy breakfast and a coffee-when the sound of soft heels approached across the floor.

"Captain, a moment of your time?" Steve looked up from the paper, his brain switching from mild interest to full attention in a heartbeat.

"Lieutenant Shaw!" He stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair backward. The small woman was dressed in a pretty green dress but had concealed much of it with a bulky cardigan that looked like a swift purchase for the cold London weather, with little consideration given to style and all thought dedicated to comfort.

"It's just Alice, please," she said with a faint smile. "I've been told I need to be less formal when I'm not on duty. I just need a minute with you."

"Please," Steve offered, pulling out a chair for the nurse.

"Thank you. I understand this is quite the, uh, covert situation?" She made a wobbly motion with her hand. "But I'm concerned Dum Dum might have oversold me a little."

Steve folded the paper in front of him, observing the way the nurse followed every motion. "All due respect, Ma'am, it's not just Dugan."

She bobbed her head in a slightly ambivalent nod. "I'd like to bring a second nurse from the same Field Hospital. She has more experience than me, and I know she'll be a great asset."

She held his gaze, her attention somewhere between aggressive and predatory. No - it was analytical. Surgical, in the way that she watched motion and observed the room.

"I'll see that she gets transferred as soon as possible," Steve agreed. Alice sat across from him silently, and the clinical nature began to slip away, her hands obscured by the sleeves of her sweater, pulled low and clenched in her small hands. "Was there anything else?" Steve asked.

She didn't look ready for the question. "Uh," she stammered. "How is he?"

"How is - Bucky, you mean?" The shift from analytical clinician to… something more human threw a new line into the picture he'd formed of the nurse. A soft concern lingered at the edges of the portrait, changing the chill of what had seemed like detachment to the sheltered, concealed concern of an outsider.

Bucky had been completely closed-off about the nurse after he returned to the pub but had thrown himself into the drunken revelry as much as any soldier on leave. He and Steve were spending a lot of time catching up, but no matter how much Steve pressed, Bucky wouldn't talk about Alice; not even to mention her name. The light behind his eyes would shut off until Steve changed the subject.

"Is he having nightmares?" She dug around in her purse and pulled out an apothecary bottle. "I went to the store, and they had all kinds of things he definitely should _not_ take, but if you could - I mean, I would, but…" she trailed off, still holding the bottle. "If he's not alright, he wouldn't tell anyone."

Steve had been worried about and the contrast between his friend's indifference and Dum Dum's vehement insistence that she joined them on the mission. _It has to be Shaw,_ Dum Dum had insisted, drawing him aside from conversation. _Just trust me on this._

Steve leaned forward a little, opening his hand in an offer to take the bottle. "I'm not sure what you mean, Ma'am. My Ma always told me that-" he checked the label, "Valerian root extract was the best way to get a good night's sleep after a few rough days."

Relief washed over her face, and she stopped pulling at her sleeves. "Thank you, Captain."

"Ma'am," he started, pocketing the bottle. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course," she replied, though her face said otherwise.

"What are you doing here?" From everything he had heard, the nurse was going to be an absolute godsend on their mission, but there was something that didn't sit right. She had this uneasy reluctance of presence like she didn't want to be recognized when walking into a room.

Her face fell blank. "I don't understand the question."

"The war- why serve? There are a hundred things you could be doing instead of this," he clarified.

The blank expression yielded to an irritated one. "Do you ask everyone this question or am I just special?" Her annoyed tone matched better with his original mental image of the nurse, but the worry expressed in her hands betrayed the detail he'd begun to establish.

He shrugged. "Let's just say I have a special interest."

"Well," Alice went back to wringing her sweater with her hands, frowning. She looked like she was thinking hard, and then her face relaxed into an odd calm. She looked up at him, her expression open and honest in a way he wasn't used to seeing on women. "I'm here to save your life, Captain. I'm here to save a lot of lives. It's my responsibility, and I've had to accept that… that this is a time of _responsibility_. This is a time of trying to make the right choices, even if we don't know what those are just yet."

"That's it?" he asked, standing as she stood.

"That's it," she replied, her face still serene.

"Then I'll see you on the boat." He held out a hand, and Alice grasped it firmly.

"Yes, Sir. Enjoy your paper, and thank you for your time."

* * *

 **November 16, 1943**

Alice leaped at her hotel door when the faint knock sounded. "You don't think you could have been more specific?" Gloria asked, holding up a telegram in one hand and a suitcase in the other.

GLORIA

COME TO LONDON

ORDERS ON THE WAY

START PACKING

ALICE

Alice gripped her in a tight hug. "Telegrams are expensive -get in here, I've got a thousand things to tell you."

Gloria listened intently as Alice recounted her time in the Weapons Factory in Austria, described their rescue, and relayed what had happened since. She was silent, just soaking in information like a sponge.

"So that's it…" Alice pulled the blanket over her head, moaning piteously. "What do I dooooo…"

"I don't see what the problem is, really," Gloria chided.

Alice strongly disagreed. "There's a _huge_ problem. Barnes has the emotional vocabulary of a walrus."

"You could always teach him," Gloria waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "He's quite the looker."

Alice poked her head out of the blankets. "Maybe I can avoid him. If he doesn't get shot or anything, I wouldn't see him, right?"

"Alice…" Gloria sighed. "Could you maybe explain to me why the idea of going on a few dates is so bad? The other nurses do it all the time."

Alice had a good reason. She had a _damn_ good reason. She was a time-traveler who had no business mucking around with men in the forties. She couldn't bear the idea of getting attached to a man, only to leave him to a horrible fate that she would just skip over entirely. She couldn't bear the thought of falling in love with someone she would have to abandon.

"I have to _work_ with him, Glo. I have to work next to him, until this mission is over, and I can't let my emotions get in the way."

Gloria made a very rude sound.

" _What?"_ Alice asked sharply.

Gloria snickered behind a delicate hand. "Oh sorry; the idea of _Alice Shaw_ as an unfeeling robot was just too funny."

"Hey, I can be objective," Alice defended.

Gloria shook her head. "We aren't talking about objective - and that's a whole other story - we're talking about emotions. But Alice, what do you _want_? You can't be so picky-you never know what could happen next week, or next month, or a year from now!"

Alice thought. Alice laid back on her bed, rolling onto her side to face the wall.

Gloria didn't ask again, and let Alice stew in silence.

 _What do I want? I want… I want to not be here at all. I want to change the circumstances so I don't have to torture myself. I want to not know the future. I want simplicity._

 _I want to be happy._

Alice rolled onto her other side.

 _What does happiness look like?_

A big empty space in the shape of a question mark filled her thoughts. As she stewed, Gloria turned off the lights and slid down into the twin bed across from Alice's.

"Gloria," Alice whispered in the dark.

"Yeah," a sleepy voice whispered back.

"What does your happy ending look like? The end of the fairy tale?"

"Well," she sighed, deep in thought. "A handsome husband, and a few kids, and a house with a big yard. A big Christmas with both of our families getting along just fine." Gloria paused. "You alright, honey?"

"Yeah," Alice choked.

Alice couldn't think of a happy ending for her story.

Before she had traveled back in time, she had wanted to own her own farm, maybe settle down with a nice boy and have a few kids - just like Gloria. She had failed entirely to think about the consequences of this mission on her future. This would haunt her every thought for decades to come. It was a secret, weighing her down with a taste like death.

 _I've ruined everything,_ Alice thought, _but just everything for me._

* * *

Alice dragged her feet a little as she re-entered the hotel lobby, two cups of coffee clutched in her hands and a bag of pastries tucked under her arm. Three straight nights without sleep was starting to gain on her again, but this time she would remember to eat if nothing else.

"Miss Shaw?" The hotel manager asked hesitantly, waving a hand to get her attention. "There's a call for you at the desk; we're holding the line."

Alice set the breakfast order on the desk and leaned over to accept the receiver. "Hello, this is Alice Shaw," she spoke into the receiver.

"Miss Shaw, we have your gear ready at Headquarters." The tinny voice coming through the receiver left Alice longing for decent cell reception.

"My… my gear? I think there's been a mistake,"

"No, Ma'am; no mistake. A car should arrive shortly to retrieve you and your partner." The other line hung up with a sharp _click_ , and the operator had to tell Alice to hang up as she stood dumbly in the lobby holding an empty line.

* * *

"Are we sure this is the right place?" Gloria whispered, clutching Alice's arm tightly. The driver had dropped them off in front of a somewhat grimy looking market, entirely devoid of customers except those picking up newspapers out front.

"The driver seemed to know where he was going," Alice whispered back.

"Lieutenant Shaw?" A man with a pencil-thin mustache and baggy trousers held up with suspenders stood in the doorway, looking only vaguely interested.

"Yes!"

"Follow me, please." He led them on a merry goose chase through the back of the market, through a concealed panel in the rear wall, and down a series of excessively steep stairs.

"It's a secret base, Alice!" Gloria hissed enthusiastically.

"Yes, thank you, honey, I noticed," Alice hissed back.

A number of grim-looking soldiers shot hostile looks their way, but the man with the pencil-thin mustache was entirely indifferent. Alice followed his lead.

He opened a thick metal door to a store-room packed floor to ceiling with uniforms, boots, packs, various pieces of technology that Alice wouldn't have bothered touching, and shelf after shelf after _shelf_ of brand-new medical supplies. Gloria and Alice's eyes nearly sparkled with delight; after so many months of working with odds and ends, the plenty was nearly overwhelming in its glory.

"Take whatever suits you, everything here is at your disposal. There might be a lag sometimes in getting you fresh supplies, so fill up on anything you might need at the drop of a hat." He rapped a knuckle on a long table to his left to draw attention to a package. "Miss Shaw, I was told this was for you, specifically."

It was a sort of cross between a saddlebag and a fanny pack- a long leather belt with the pack threaded through loops so it would sit flush against the small of her back, but could be easily slid along the belt to be accessible from her hip. As she flipped it open she saw a neat series of steel containers, each with a small glass window and a blank label. Much less likely to break during transit than her current method of throwing various glass jars into a bag willy-nilly. "There's a magnet on the bottom, too," the man indicated, demonstrating it took a fair amount of effort to remove the jars. "No rattling around, no losing jars while riding."

"Oh," Alice breathed, "that's neat."

"Alice, look!" Gloria cried enthusiastically, holding up a coat embroidered on the front pocket with a red medical cross and turning it inside-out. "They're lined with Kevlar mesh- isn't that genius?" She stuffed it in a bag already half-filled with supplies and dove back in for more.

The man in the doorway smirked. "The designer thinks of a thing or two on occasion."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," Alice apologized, sliding the belt on to test for fit.

"Howard; nice to meet you." The door had closed behind him before Alice's brain caught up with the name.

* * *

A/N: I was kind of sad to break my chapter-a-day streak, but it had to happen. The order on a lot of this chapter got moved around a few times as it was very jumpy at the beginning, and I've been writing on a tablet instead of a computer so my typos are through the roof. We've moved out of the part of the story that I had a right outline for, and now I get to start beating my head against the desk a few times a day in the hopes that something intelligent falls out.

My goal moving forward is to post a chapter at least once a week, depending on how persistent y'all are with reviews...

We're starting to get a better picture of how deliberately vague Cable has been with Alice, and that he's been essentially selecting what parts of the information from WW2 she's been able to study.

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	23. Spiral

**Trigger Warning: PTSD**

* * *

 **December 3, 1943**

Alice kept to herself on the road. She had enough to keep her busy with regards to preparing her little work space in the back of the nurses' designated vehicle, but beyond that she was _bored_. It hurt to separate herself from her boys, but she also knew that her responsibility to the future – to the _universe_ – was stronger than whatever desire she may have for a single Sergeant.

To make matters somewhat that much worse, Bucky was definitely avoiding her. She could see him walking with the Commandos at evening chow, joking and chatting along like usual. But he managed to vanish every time she joined the conversation. She stopped trying, as she realized it was probably about her. She stepped away, letting him have his life. It was _his_ century, anyway. She wasn't even supposed to be there.

She was worried, though. She would see him sitting at the fire, enjoying whatever raucous joke was being told, and he would sort of… drift away. His gaze would wander and glaze off, like staring into eternity. It would take a few seconds, and then he would be back again.

 _Shell-shock_ , her unhelpful brain whispered. _Your fault._

The dark, poisonous feeling that tasted like ash and sounded like loneliness had grown into a near-sentient force inside Alice's gut. It ate at her, consuming her meals and stealing her strength. She did her best to keep busy; inventory, collecting plants as they rumbled and rambled along abandoned dirt roads, and talking with Gloria.

It wasn't fair to Gloria that Alice chose to stay on the outskirts of the group, and Alice encouraged her as much as possible to socialize with the men. A little more than half the time, Gloria ate dinner with the men around the little fire as Alice took a brief nap in the back of their truck.

Alice had been fashioning it into some semblance of an ambulance since their arrival on the mainland. She had to work mostly at night – when the trucks were parked and the men were asleep – but Gloria didn't seem to mind. They set up one side of a tent like a lean-to against the side of the big truck, and Gloria got to sleep on a double-layer of bedrolls while Alice worked.

She was mostly content with her work. They hadn't seen action, but that was coming soon. It was unusual for the two nurses to go so long without washing blood from their hands, but the lingering tension in the air sang tighter and louder with each passing day.

Alice could see it in the clenching of teeth, and the tight bark of laughter that never got far as she walked through the crowd of soldiers. She could see it in the hunch of spines over breakfast as she got her morning coffee, and in the idle shuffle of boots on perimeter duty.

Alice and Gloria watched as the time came – final reconnaissance complete, the team scrambled to gear up and move out – with a concerned detachment. Their time would come soon, though hopefully they wouldn't be needed at all.

"You should get some sleep," Alice told Gloria. "We should sleep in shifts until they're back, just in case."

"Agreed," Gloria confirmed, slipping down from the bed of the truck. "You alright for the next four hours?"

"You know I am," Alice grinned, swinging her legs in the air as they hung off the back of the truck.

"You better wake me up this time – I don't like you staying up that long all alone," Gloria chided.

"You're not my real mom!" Alice called back.

The nighttime silence pressed against the camp like a thick wool blanket, punctured on occasion by the night-call of an owl, or the far-off thunder of an exploding mortar. They were just close enough to feel the tremor of explosions, see the burning flames glow on the distant horizon, but not near enough to hear the suffering itself. Not close enough to know who was winning. It would be up to the watch on duty to determine if any approaching vehicles were coming for a fight.

The night drew longer with sustained tension practically singing in the air, leaving Alice jumpy and drained. "Alice," Gloria touched her shoulder. "Your turn, honey."

"Oh," she started. _Has it really been four hours?_ "Thanks. I think I'll take it."

She slipped from the edge of the truck as the glow of dawn overtook the haze of fire on the horizon, crawling on top of the bedrolls and falling asleep nearly the moment her head hit the roll.

* * *

Factory one of six, destroyed. It felt good to destroy something – to watch the building explode and the tanks grind to a halt. It felt _good_ to get vengeance like that. Not that the assault came without a cost – no loss of life, but Bucky and more than a handful of soldiers took the easy ride in a Jeep back to the Forward Ops Base.

Bucky wasn't in a rush to go see the nurses. He had just been skimmed by some shrapnel,and considered the scrapes on his arms just that – _scrapes_. He didn't seem to have much of a choice in the matter, however, as he kept getting turned around at the mess tent with firm orders to _go see the damn nurses_.

Bucky walked slowly – so slowly – to the med tent. His brain held a conflicting feeling; that Alice would be there, and that she wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to her, after what had happened at the pub. They'd just been on the verge of saying something, _something_ , which came a little too close to talking about girly shit like _feelings_ for Bucky's comfort.

Dames and feelings had no place together. They were fun and all, but he could have his pick of girls a lot less trouble than Alice Shaw. Thompson had been right about her – _two shots of trouble on an empty stomach._

To his relief – and disappointment – Gloria was holding her own in the med tent and Alice was nowhere to be seen. "Ma'am," Bucky started, holding his arm and giving the nurse a hopeful look.

She was a little busy pulling flesh together with a needle, a focused frown scrawled in harsh lines on her face. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, but my hands are a little occupied at the moment," the nurse grimaced as the needle stabbed into her nail bed as punishment for her distraction. "If it's not too much bother, could you wake up Alice? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to help."

 _Well, shit._ Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked through camp. He wondered if he could sneak into the mess tent form the rear to get his dinner. Probably not, if previous experience was any indicator.

 _Maybe if I'm real quiet, she won't wake up_ , he reasoned. He could say her name super quiet, she wouldn't wake up, and then he could still say that he tried. Definitely seemed like a reasonable option, and it didn't leave him in a lurch with anybody.

 _Except for Alice_ , the unhelpful parts of his brain hissed.

 _Whatever_ , he shrugged it off.

Alice and Gloria's little sleeping tent was leaned up against the side of their Jeep – anybody knew where to find it if they wanted. They had been encouraged to move a little further away from the men – for privacy, to avoid snoring, all that – and Gloria had been the first to laugh. _Alice's snoring drowns out everybody else_ , she had replied.

Bucky knocked on the side of the Jeep, the harsh metal clanging louder than he intended. _Gently_ , Bucky winced, _don't want her to really wake up._ He pulled the tent flap aside, his mouth opening into the shape of Alice's name, and-

She was lying on the cold, hard, metal surface. Her hair was matted and soaked with blood. She wasn't stirring, and through the ringing in his ears he couldn't tell if she was breathing.

 _Alice?_ He could barely breathe, _shit_ , he wasn't breathing, _shit_ , neither was Alice.

The roaring in his ears was reaching a deafening volume. He could taste her blood in the air, feel it on his hands, and-

"Bucky?" The hot, thick fog that had wrapped around his brain and the cold, toxic sludge that had risen in his belly all dissipated at once. Alice wasn't bleeding on a truck bed, she was sitting up from her bedroll, staring at him with open concern.

"I'm fine," leapt from his mouth in a hurry; a reflexive response to being stared at. He could see her bloody and not-bloody, at the same time. His brain couldn't remember which one was real right now, but he was _fine._

He turned to flee, but Alice was faster. She sprung from her cot – shirt, hair, trousers all in disarray – and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing herself to his back.

"I'm here." Her soothing tone beat against the raging of his heart like soft whispering ocean waves. "You're here, too," she reassured him. "We're in the nurse's tent in the camp just outside Lublin. I'm breathing, and you're breathing with me."

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse, choking in the fog.

"I know you are," Alice agreed. "Because you're breathing with me." He could feel the tight pressure of her chest ebb and flow as she breathed.

She was breathing.

A deep, rattling breath surged through his chest so fast his head grew fuzzy. "One more," Alice encouraged, pressing her hand against his sternum. He felt her head turn, from pressing her cheek to a brush from her nose to the hard plane of her forehead. He gulped down another breath. "Good," Alice praised.

"Can you sit down for me?" Alice asked, pulling away and taking his arm. "Right here, Buck; that's it." She coaxed him to sit on a loose canvas stool and pressed his back down so his head nearly hung between his knees. "Stay right like that – I'll be right back."

She was gone. Bucky was remembering how good it felt to breathe. The morning mist was still frigid, and Bucky could feel it coating the inside of his throat in waves. _What just happened?_ He had been certain – absolutely certain – that Alice lay dying on the floor. Just like before.

Alice returned swiftly, as promised, holding a bucket and a few clean cloths draped over one arm and moving to kneel at his side. "Sit up, if you can." She dipped the cloths in the bucket, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. Bucky hadn't realized that his brain was nearly on fire until he nearly moaned with relief.

"How long?" Alice asked.

"I'm fine," he rasped.

"Like hell you are," she snapped, her angelic patience clearly limited to the bounds of an episode. "How long have you been having flashbacks, Bucky?" she asked, wrapping the cloth around the back of his neck, which felt equally heavenly.

"First time," he claimed.

 _Liar,_ he thought.

"Liar," Alice echoed his brain's sentiments. "And a piss-poor one at that. You've been avoiding me because you didn't want me to notice." She turned at the waist to grab a leather bag from beside her. She pulled a metal canister from inside, and shook it experimentally. "I can knock you out tonight, if you like. Help you get some real sleep."

Bucky flashed his most charming grin, attempting to disarm the nurse. "You gonna tuck me in and everything, doll?" His skin crawled uncomfortably against his bones as he tried to stop his stomach from tying itself into a knot. It was a horrible feeling. _Is this what poison feels like?_

She did not seem pleased. "Bucky, this is nothing to joke about; you need help."

"I'm no coward," he snapped sharply, pulling the cloth from around his neck. It felt with an audible _slap_ to the ground. He wasn't like one of those cowards will their 'Shell-shock'. He didn't need their coddling or their breezy vacations from real life. He was _James Buchanan Barnes,_ God damn it.

"I didn't – _look_ ," Alice made a frustrated noise. "Just come find me when you've had enough. Okay?" She held out the jar. "One big spoonful in a mug of hot water to help you sleep."

"I don't need it." He pushed the jar back to her, careful not to touch her skin. "I'm fine."

"So you've said," Alice replied, " _multiple_ times." She didn't offer him the jar again. She held it in her hands, rolling it gently. He could hear the faint rush of crushed leaves whispering inside the jar, like distant ocean waves. Like her voice.

"I gotta go," he said, standing abruptly.

"Okay," Alice said plainly, not moving from her kneeling position on the ground.

He could feel her eyes watching him as he left, like could steel feel the cool cloth pressed against his neck, and her voice rolling over him in waves, lifting him up to breathe again. The ground pressed up against his feet was a good reminder of where he was, but it couldn't always be trusted. The butt of a rifle against his shoulder pulled him back, but he had to sleep sometime.

The stinging in his arm reminded him that he'd never gotten it looked at. He took careful time to wash it out, and switch his undershirt to a clean one. He would never admit that he could hear the voice of one Alice Shaw whispering in his ear, rolling like dark, deep waters. Reminding him to breathe, reminding him to breathe, reminding him to breathe.

 _I'm breathing._

 _You're breathing with me._

He breathed, finding a grounding sensation in the bite of winter inside his chest. It shuddered less on the way out, his heart rate balancing on the level end of a knife's-edge.

 _Good_.

* * *

A/N: I was nOT EMOTIONALLY PREPARED for the Avengers 4 Trailer. Goddamn it, Marvel.

Mmmmmm… PTSD; not surprising at all given everything that happened at Azzano/Austria. It was generally considered to be a moral failing in a man, but at least they didn't get shot (fairly common in WW1) for exhibiting symptoms in the field. Yay, history!

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	24. Call Signs

**December 21, 1943**

There was something wrong in the air. Alice could taste it. The camp had spent the last few weeks moving to their next forward position, moving south towards Greece and navigating their way through rough territory. The reconnaissance squad hadn't returned in late afternoon, and Rogers had taken the rest of the unit to find them.

Twilight was creeping between the stopped Jeeps, their drivers waiting with hands on the ignition, waiting for a sign. The strained conversation was limited to brief intervals, punctuated by long silences as everyone listened intently.

Alice paced her way among the Jeeps a few times an hour, checking in with the Signal hub second from the front. The Specialist there was tired of seeing her, she had little doubt, but she didn't care.

There was something wrong in the air. She could _taste_ it. The tension tasted like sweat and fresh gunpowder, like worry wrapped in fear and doubt, or the change of the wind carrying a promise of a thunderstorm. It looked like a green sky growing on the horizon, threatening a maelstrom.

Alice did another circle around the tight caravan of trucks and Jeeps, bringing Grani a carrot and kicking up loose dirt with her feet. The ground was nearly frozen from the cold, so she had to really dig her toes in to get at loose material. Somehow, the promise of snow had yet to be fulfilled as they moved south, but it was definitely lingering in the air. There would definitely be snow before Christmas.

The radio crackled as twilight slipped seamlessly into the swift darkness of winter, and the Specialist clipped in his headphones, listening intently.

Alice leaped into the bed of the truck next to the Specialist, leaning over his shoulder to stare at the twitching needles on the electronics. "What are they saying?" she insisted.

"One moment, Ma'am, _please_." He listened intently, and then spoke into the mouthpiece. "Repeat, Jones; you're calling for… for the cavalry?"

Alice could have _shot_ Dugan. She clapped the soldier on the shoulder as he waited for Jones's confirmation. "Radio back – The Cavalry's on the way." Alice tucked her lip in her funny way, calling out a sharp whistle that made the Specialist flinch. "Where?" she asked sharply.

"Five miles North, North-West, Ma'am," he replied as Alice hopped out of the truck and patted her lower back, checking that her little leather pouch was firmly in place as the ground started to rumble beneath her feet.

Grani charged through the caravan, coming up from the rear and nearly trampling soldiers that didn't dive out of the way in time. He didn't pause for a single beat as Alice reached for the reigns and leapt into the saddle. She timed it just a shade poorly and nearly dislocated her arm in the swift pull of Grani's might. She tugged at the reins and Grani took a sharp turn, ducking beneath a low branch as they dove directly into the forest.

She could hear the faint – and growing fainter by the second – calls of the men on watch as she flew through the trees, not waiting for further orders, not asking permission. It was invigorating, to finally return to the pace with which she was familiar. She was flying towards the battle. She was flying towards danger. She was serving her purpose.

There were benefits to charging through the forest on horseback. Alice didn't need to follow the winding road that splayed out over the land like a giant snake but charge straight through to her boys. She and Grani had done a few rides together as the camp moved, practicing hurdling over the tight ground cover of European forests, and navigating stumbling hazards. She could feel the confidence in his stride, with every four-part beat of his charge and churn of his chest she could feel his power.

There were also downsides to charging through the forest on horseback. She was fully exposed to any gunfire and mortars that may be aimed her way. She grew more aware of this as the air grew hazy with smoke and a different kind of rumble growled through the Earth.

Alice slowed Grani to a canter and then a slow trot as the rapid report of gunfire grew louder, and the smoke clung low to the underbrush. She could go no further on horseback without risking Grani's safety as well.

She slid from the saddle slowly as he halted, listing intently for the tell-tale crunch of boots on the dry ground. _"Dvöl,_ " she commanded, dropping the reins. Grani stood in place, as ordered, though he pawed briefly at the ground with his hoof.

" _Hush_ ," Alice hissed. "I'll call you soon, promise." She patted his face for good measure, and he tugged at her sleeve with his teeth but did not move to follow. She pulled her green cap over her hair and slunk low to the ground towards the gunfire.

She hissed a little prayer under her breath, hoping that all of the local wildlife had either fled far, far from danger or wouldn't mind her crashing through their den and bite her on the ankle. Alice wasn't the stealthiest, but she didn't have to worry so much about noise from the onslaught roaring through the forest.

Gunshots played an unending staccato, punctuated at odd intervals by mortars and a rumbling, electric sound not too dissimilar from a lightsaber. As Alice grew nearer, spotting the occasional figure moving in the little village just beyond the forest's edge; some were familiar, some less so.

Alice crouched behind a tree as a broad figure came into focus ahead of her, just inside the cover of the forest. It was a German soldier, clear enough from the style of his uniform, but he was taking careful aim at someone. Alice craned her head to see where he was aiming, and her blood boiled as she spotted a familiar bowler hat not thirty yards away.

 _Oh no you don't…_

The soldier stood and aimed as if to fire at Dum Dum, but froze as a rock sailed over his head – missing his head by a mile, but gathering his attention and causing him to reflexively turn _._ Alice surged forward to crowd his space and make her a more difficult target. She swiftly removed the knife from the German's side, turned it, and jammed it upwards into his ribs.

When Alice stabbed a man through the chest, there was no ceremony in it. There were no fancy spinning knife tricks and no lithe dodging. Alice moved with the physicality of one who resets bones for a living, slamming all five-foot-five and hundred-fifty-five pounds of muscle behind the hilt of the knife.

The German dropped without a sound. Alice's stomach rolled and sank in her gut. _I… I don't think I was supposed to do that. Was I?_ She had hardly given it careful thought before acting, but seeing her friend vulnerable… she had acted without thinking at all. _One more secret_ , she thought. _One more life stolen._ Alice paid no further attention to the corpse she had made, ducking down to join Dum Dum behind the cover of the Jeep.

"You couldn't come up with something better than 'The Cavalry'?" Alice asked judgmentally, flinching away as rifle rounds tore through the truck door. Dum Dum shot her a double-take as she seemed to magically appear beside him.

"Oh, I'm sorry – did you want me to radio specifically for a Nurse and have you dodging mortars the whole way here?" Dum Dum stood sharply over the truck, firing shots in return. "In that case, I'll use your full name next time."

"Alright, sassafras, I'm here," Alice snarked.

"Since you're here, it's a great time to ask – what do you want for Christmas?" Dugan asked, returning another series of gunshots almost idly.

"Well, I was thinking maybe a new jewelry box for my dresser or a pretty new hat for Sunday Mass…" Alice ticked off on her fingers. "But instead, how about you tell me _what I'm_ _doing out here."_

"Over by the Tank," Dum Dum pointed with his head. "Give me a second to give you some cover."

Alice crouched and ran along the ground to the Tank, assessing the reconnaissance squad in a quick sweep of her eyes. They were a little scuffed up, but the greater concern was for one Captain Rogers, sporting a heavily bleeding thigh while keeping watch over the group, his shield ringing with ricochet of gunfire.

"What kind of moron runs around like he's bulletproof…?" Alice snarled darkly, reaching into her pack for the steel canister containing both iodine and gauze.

"I told them not to call you, Ma'am, it's not-" Rogers protested, going so far as to shift away from Alice as she approached.

"Don't you move a goddamn muscle, Captain." He held still then as Alice poured iodine into the wound to clear it, pressed a pad of gauze against it, and wrapped it swiftly. "Can't trust a damn one of you to keep all the blood inside your body."

" _Shaw!_ " Her head turned in a snap at the sound of the frantic cry.

"Morita?" she called back, glancing at Steve and evidently deeming him well enough to walk as she stood and ran in the direction of the summoner.

Falsworth put up a good front but winced with every step as it pulled at the raw wound in his side that looked like a cross between a burn and a gunshot. "Good evening, Lieutenant," he greeted through clenched teeth.

"Evening, Monty. Feel like a drive through the country and a spot of tea?" Alice's voice was cheery as she shouldered his arm, taking the burden from Morita.

He grunted at the change in angle, but Alice couldn't help that she was short. "That – _hngh_ – that sounds delightful. Shall I call the butler to bring the car around?"

"Nah – I've studied all the best cabbies in New York." Alice helped ease him into the back seat of a Jeep, quickly climbing into the front seat and turning the engine over in a roar of fuel as she immediately stomped on the accelerator and the Jeep lurched forward.

Alice frowned as the Jeep failed to pick up speed beyond the initial lurch. It trundled along at a merrily slow pace despite Alice's best efforts. "Stupid thing is broken," Alice snarled.

"Darling," Falsworth groaned from the back seat. "You need to change gears."

 _Oh. Fuck._ _I never learned to drive stick._ "Sorry – I've never, uh, actually driven before," Alice covered, trying to figure feel around with her left foot for the clutch while puzzling about the presence of not one, not two, but _three_ knobs that all looked like a gearshift on her right.

"Haven't you really?" Falsworth sounded astonished.

"Listen – everything I drive has a mind of its own and knows when to speed up – even automatically avoids potholes!" Alice retorted. Riding Grani was a much preferable experience in her eyes. Given the suspension – or lack thereof – on military vehicles, horseback was honestly so much more comfortable. Plus you could nap if the horse was well-trained.

Falsworth laughed and then groaned in pain. "Forgive me – all the fantastical things you've managed to perform for us, and you don't know how to drive!"

"Now is not the time to make fun of me!" Alice flushed. "Can you talk me through it?"

The Jeep picked up speed as she shifted, flying through the trees. Once she felt they were going at a good speed, Alice tucked her lip and whistled sharply, the sound easily carrying over the powerful engine. A silver shadow raced after them, all flickering feet and wild mane waving.

" _Fara aftur,"_ Alice called to Grani. He tossed his head, slowing the rapid galloping follow to a steadier pace.

"You've trained him well," Falsworth commented, craning his neck to watch the horse disappear into the underbrush.

"Wish I could train the lot of you half as well – I wouldn't worry so damn much," Alice retorted.

The five miles back to the caravan was covered in a matter of minutes in the Jeep. Alice and Gloria hauled Falsworth into the back of their ambulance and debated for a few minutes about how to treat it – like a burn, or like a gunshot – until Falsworth interjected that he didn't particularly care either way, but it was a smidge uncomfortable just waiting for a decision.

The caravan rumbled to life an hour or so later, the ambulance jerking into motion beneath their feet. A regular occurrence while working, Alice and Gloria had developed a sort of "sea legs" for the motion, barely pausing in their work.

They trundled along the road for an hour or two before circling up into the familiar "wild west" circle of vehicles. It was cliché, but it was a decent way of creating a hard and fast perimeter around a campsite. A roaring fire was quickly constructed, and a hot evening soup prepared faster than some of the men could wash their hands. The Howling Commandos were quite the operation; fast on their feet, faster to dinner.

Alice sat on the cold hood of a jeep, holding her bowl of hot soup close and trying to enjoy the radiant heat as long as possible. She saw more familiar faces engage with less familiar, and ran through names in her head, trying to memorize the moment.

The foul taste in the air had lifted slightly. A lighthearted mood had settled in camp, even if it was somewhat subdued by preparations for the days to come. They were close, and the enemy knew they were coming.

Dum Dum caught her eye, raising an eyebrow from across the fire as if asking a question. _You joining us tonight?_

Alice shook her head. _It's alright._

He shrugged a shoulder, diving back into the group conversation. Alice was content on her makeshift observation deck; she was watching for limps, for concealed aches and pains, or really any hopeful glance that was thrown her way. Men seemed to be so uncomfortable asking for help most of the time, but if she offered it – or insisted on taking a look at an injury – they were happy to accept it.

 _Speaking of uncooperative men…_ Alice watched Bucky, her gaze clinical as he engaged the others. She was watching for the twitch in his hand as he reached repeatedly for his rifle, always making sure it was within arm's reach. She was watching for the glassy, far-off stare that followed him through the night. She was watching for the strained smile, followed by a tense laugh as he tried to re-enter a dialogue he had checked out of.

Alice sighed. _Just let me help you._ She sat up straighter, though, as he did something odd.

Bucky's eyes had started to glaze over – it wasn't hard to spot once she knew it was there – but he sort of… shifted in his seat. He planted his feet on the ground and took a deep breath. It shuddered its way through his shoulders, but it was unmistakable. Deep, steadying breaths. His eyes cleared. He reached to touch at his rifle; still within reach. He breathed again. He laughed at a joke.

 _You listened._ Alice smiled behind her spoon as she dug into the soup. _At least a little._

* * *

A/N: I know in Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. the TV Show that Agent Melinda May is "The Cavalry", but given that the more traditional definition is "soldiers mounted on horseback", I thought it would be a fitting call-sign for Alice, in part because Dum-Dum was all about nicknames and he's the one that gave her Grani. The alternate I was going to use was "Angel", but I found it less than original.

I'm also told it's terribly true that if you need to call for medical attention over the radio, there's no good time to ever make it that clear. You're either (a) telegraphing that you're injured or (b) telling the enemy you've got valuable medics coming.

My dudes! I have outlined the REST OF THIS STORY so all chapters are locked in with titles and themes and twists and recurring images and alL THAT GOOD junk. MmmMMMMMmmmmm. I'm also planning on spending at least two days of my Holiday Vacation just writing! SOooo maybe a few more two-chapter days in the future?

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(Can we get over 100 reviews with this chapter, please? I wish this story got more love…)


	25. Cinnamon

**December 24, 1943**

 _The soldier stood and aimed as if to fire at Dum Dum, but froze as a rock sailed over his head – missing his head by a mile, but gathering his attention and causing him to reflexively turn. Alice surged forward to crowd his space and make her a more difficult target. She swiftly removed the knife from the German's side, turned it, and jammed it upwards into his ribs._

 _He screamed, like a dying child. He screamed, louder than a dying animal. He screamed, blood pouring from his side, drenching her in the evidence of her destruction. It came out like a river, washing her away, away, away from her friends. She called out to them for help, but they couldn't hear her. Their backs remained turned as she grasped at the branches rushing by in reverse, but her bloody hands slipped too easily from their rough surface._

 _She was carried far away from her friends, the screaming still singing loud, sharp, and wild in her ears._

* * *

Alice choked a little on air as she sat upright, her chest heaving. Her eyes darted wildly around the tent, searching for something to hold on to as _real_ as she fought off the nightmare. She grasped at her heavy wool blanket, trying to find comfort there but only remembering the coarse texture of trees slipping away beneath bloody hands.

Pushing her hair back from her face, Alice took a shaky breath to steady herself. _Just a dream_ , she reasoned, _it can't really hurt you._ Alice flipped open her pocket watch, squinting to see the hands in the feeble light. The hands informed her that she'd only slept for about an hour, and to go back to sleep.

Alice flipped the blanket off and pulled on her heavy coat, braving the bitter evening cold instead. Her breath fogged instantly in the winter air and she blew out heavily, smiling a little. When she had been younger she would find a little stick and pretend to smoke a cigarette – you know, to be _cool_.

Finally free of the tent that smelled like sweat and fear, Alice shuffled her feet a little in her boots to get the cold leather warming up – Alice couldn't sleep in her boots, it just wasn't comfortable. As a result, she always had to shove her feet into ice-cold leather boots first thing in the morning. As it turned out, putting on ice-cold boots after a nightmare was even worse.

But once outside, the frigid hand of winter batted away her fear and exhaustion, slapping her cheeks with rosy cheer and lifting the heat from her trembling skin. If Alice had a choice in the matter, she would never sleep again, but stand out in the evening air, watching the stars drift past.

The cold crept long fingers deep under her coat and she shuddered, her still-sweaty skin prickling up in response. _Maybe I should start a little fire, though. I shouldn't expect that I'm immune to freezing to death._ She caught a glimpse of Gloria moving past their tent – returning from a late night chat with the squad, she assumed. "Help me with the fire, would you?" Alice called out, fishing around for some starter paper.

Gloria popped her head around the tent, smiling sheepishly. "Alice! I didn't think you were awake!" Gloria played with her gloved hands, cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I was going to see if Falsworth needed anything. You know, after his wound and all."

 _Hopeless._ Alice tossed the paper down, giving up entirely on the enterprise. "… alright fine – go. I'll just freeze to death all alone."

"Thank you, honey!" Gloria trilled, grabbing the heavy coat it seemed had been her purpose for returning to obtain.

Alice grumbled under her breath as she kicked the little pile of kindling. She was absolutely terrible at starting fires, and thought better of attempting it on her own. Adding a cruel insult to injury, true to Alice's prediction, it started to snow.

Alice's eyelashes caught the delicate flakes as they spun down around the camp, melting at a languid pace into her hair. The faint static sound of snow settling on fallen leaves and branches thickened in the air, muffling normal nighttime sounds. It made an activity of the evening – Alice could listen for hours to the omnipresent, ever-consistent sound of winter taking hold.

It was just her and the night watch tonight, sitting out in the light snowfall, listening to the darkness.

"Can't sleep?" the voice startled her so badly she nearly yelped.

Bucky stood between two trucks, the collar of his coat turned up against the chill. The nurse's tent was pitched on the forest side of the trucks as their best effort for privacy. It meant Alice usually could sleep through the raucous dinner conversation without much trouble, but also that they didn't see many curious passers-by without them directly intending to see a nurse.

"The cold doesn't agree with me," she explained. "Not enough of me exists to create real heat."

Bucky had a funny grin on his face. "I've got more than enough to share, if you don't feel like freezing."

Alice eyed him suspiciously, but she was too cold to refuse outright. "No funny business."

"On my honor," he vowed. "You got a blanket in there?" he gestured to her tent, and Alice retrieved the wool blanket that had been smothering her not too long before as Bucky folded up the edge of the tent like a little awning to keep the snow off of them.

Alice sat down on the ground next to Bucky, keeping her coat tightly wrapped around herself and leaving a solid four inches between herself and the Sergeant. She tugged the offered length of wool around her shoulders and waited for the residual heat to penetrate her cold coat.

Alice mentally admitted to herself that it was much, _much_ cozier inside the blanket with Bucky. The blanket smelled like wood smoke from many nights spent sleeping around the fire, and the smell lingered on Bucky as well.

"So much for 'leave no man behind'." Bucky's voice was much closer now; she could almost feel the tenor of his voice in her chest.

"Gloria's a traitor," Alice replied, blaming the flush of her cheeks on the cold. "But at least she's got good taste."

Bucky snorted with humor. "She doesn't need to import when she's got American goods lying around everywhere."

"Such a convincing argument, you astound me: _Buy American, it's laying around_." Alice laughed and shivered at the same time, regretting her decision to leave space between her and the much warmer soldier.

Bucky slid from under the blanket, tucking it tightly around Alice. "You stay under there, I'll get a fire started."

"No arguments here," Alice snuggled deeper into the thick green wool. Her nose, eyes, and hair were the only parts of her visible above the blanket, making her into a very childlike figure. Bucky smirked at the sight as he collected starter paper and sticks from a nearby pile and sorted them into some semblance of the correct shape.

Alice didn't know how to bring up a new conversation. A million questions buzzed like insects in her brain, but none of them worth risking the tentative peace Bucky seemed to be trying to establish. She settled for just watching him work, his hands steady and confident, and his shoulders loose and calm.

* * *

Alice's staring was beginning to unnerve Bucky. He'd gone looking for the nurse without any real plan when he'd woken up in the night. He'd tried a few times, but she'd either been asleep or seemed busy and he'd abandoned the enterprise entirely.

All of the ways he was used to talking to dames didn't really work with Alice. She didn't flirt or swoon, preferring to keep to herself or have her mind and hands occupied with healing some traumatic injury. She charged towards danger without any apparent consideration for her own safety, to the eternal frustration and salvation of those who wanted to protect her. She did whatever the hell she wanted without apology. She was the oddest duck he'd ever met.

But she wasn't doing _anything_ but watch him. He hadn't been expecting silence, and had been sort of hoping that she would take the lead. But no, she was waiting for him.

"What's your favorite color?" he asked to break the silence, rubbing his hands together to fight off the chill.

Alice tilted her head in confusion like a puppy as she pulled the blanket under her chin to speak. "Why do you ask?"

Bucky shrugged, shuffling the sticks together in a cone shape. "Just making conversation."

She ducked her head down again, frowning. "You'll make fun of me." Her voice was muffled slightly by the blanket.

"I won't," Bucky promised, reaching into his pocket for his stash of matches. He struck one and held the little flame close to the tinder, breathing on it gently to coax it to catch.

Alice appeared to consider it, shuffling a little from her seat on the ground. "Orange. But- it's a _specific_ orange." She huffed, searching for words.

She readjusted the blanket so it wasn't so close to her face and she could wildly gesticulate with a free hand. "There's a Californian poppy that's not red like it is in New York or London. It's this beautifully _rich_ yellow-orange. It's the most magnificent color I've ever seen; you feel warm just looking at it." She sighed, and her breath fogged like steam. "I've never seen another color quite like it in nature. California Poppies are… are the color of California sunsets."

She had leaned forward and escaped the protection of her tent as she spoke, and snow had collected in her hair. It melted in the growing radiant warmth of the fire Bucky had built that cast a warm golden glow against her face. She looked completely out of place in that moment – like she'd bathed in the same sunset she was describing, the passion for it evident on her face.

"Well, damn," Bucky murmured, glancing away as an uncomfortable tightness seized his chest.

"What?" Alice asked.

He rubbed the back of his head, fluffing his hair a little. "I was hoping you were going to say red or green."

She was taken aback. "…why?"

"Well," he exposited, reaching into his jacket. "If it had been green I coulda made a great joke about Army colors. But if it was red…" Bucky produced an apple from his jacket and Alice shrieked in delight.

" _Where did you get that_?" she cried, her hand already reaching for the perfect sphere.

"Would you believe I found it?" he asked, willingly surrendering the fruit.

Alice looked more skeptically at the apple. "You found wild apples? In _winter?_ "

He produced his knife and took the apple back, slicing a generous wedge for Alice. "Yeah – pretty lucky I managed to save this one. Guys were chowing down like it was their last meal on earth."

She nibbled slowly at the apple slice as Bucky carved a smaller wedge out for himself. "So, you spend much time in California?" Bucky asked.

"No," Alice shook her head, "Only about a week. I was visiting Santa Barbara and – well, I fell in love." Bucky's eyes flickered to her, a question in his eyes. "I fell in love with _California_. I was at the botanical gardens and they have this whole _field_ of poppies. I sat there until the sun went down over the ocean and they kicked me out to close up."

"So… why didn't you stay there?" he asked, regretting it instantly as her face fell.

"It's complicated." Alice looked down at her shoes, barely peeking out from beneath the blanket. "I don't really like to talk about it."

 _Well, shit. You ruined it again_. "Is it Christmas yet?" he asked abruptly, trying to fix it.

Alice checked her pocket watch. "By twenty-seven minutes, yes."

"Swell," he said. "I've got something for you."

Alice's eyes lit up. "More than the apple? I feel so special."

"Hold out your hand," he requested. Alice stuck an arm out of her blanket wrap almost immediately, hand splayed open in eager anticipation. Her hands were pale and smooth; free of callouses and scars so typical to her line of work.

He pulled the rifle round from his pocket before he lost his nerve and placed it in her open palm. She rolled it between her fingers a few times before she caught sight of the scratches around the tip of the bullet itself. "What…?"

"It's a bullet with your name on it," he explained quickly. "You know how fellas say that somewhere out there, there's a bullet with your name on it?" He pointed at it briefly. "Well, what do you think the odds are of there being _two_ bullets?" He tapped his head knowingly. "Gotta think smart out here."

Alice burst out laughing, holding the round in her lithe fingers, still rolling it from end to end. It was too easy to watch her fingers running from the smooth brass plane of the casing to the softer copper of the bullet, like porcelain dancers. "I'm fairly sure that's not how it works," she chuckled.

"You never know." He shrugged, grinning with her. "Better keep it on you, just to be safe."

"Well alright then." She rolled it more in her fingers. "Is this an apology?" she asked softly.

"It's trying to be one," Bucky replied, looking at the fire instead of at Alice's face. "You gonna let me back in that blanket or let me freeze to death?"

Alice held open one side of the thick wool blanket, looking sheepish. Bucky sat much closer as he rejoined her, their shoulders pressing together. She didn't move away, which he considered a victory.

"You changed your hairstyle," he commented. He'd noticed the very first time in the pub but hadn't gotten a chance to mention it before he put his entire foot in his mouth. She'd switched from her braid – typically pinned in a funny crown – to more modern pin curls, which had softened the shape of her face.

"Hides the scar," she replied with a nod, reaching a free hand up to touch the spot, concealed quite well under the curls. "I don't mind looking at it, but I really don't like when other people look at it."

Bucky wondered if it would be too forward to ask, especially if she had _just_ said – and bit the inside of his cheek to silence himself. He wondered when he had started to care so much about Alice and her safety, and her approval, and her feelings. Bucky wondered when he would know exactly what he was supposed to say or do to sort out _what_ he wanted.

It was when the fire caught her eyes at just the right angle that he knew.

She raised a hand to shield her face as the fire caught in the wind, wincing as her eyes reacted to the sudden burst of light. She turned to ask him a question and her eyes blossomed from pitch-pine darkness into the warmest cinnamon amber.

It was when she stopped his heart and shocked it back to life all with that glance. She smirked at him, with a slice of apple sticking out of the side of her mouth, and commented on the ridiculous nature of the evening, and something about the snow.

It was when he saw the light flicker and burn in her eyes, a burn he could feel deep in his chest that he never wanted to fade away that he knew; he knew there would be no turning away from Alice Shaw ever again. There would be no words and no pride worth hiding in the dark, clinging only to a memory of the fire that hid deep in her soul.

"I don't like small spaces," he admitted abruptly. "It's like being held down again."

Alice held still, processing the abrupt change in the tone of the conversation, then she nodded. "I get that."

"Sleeping's hard," he added.

Alice nodded again. "I can help with that."

"I'm not broken," he defended. "I don't need _fixing_ or anything."

Alice shot him a stern look. "Of course you aren't! I will straight up _stab_ anyone who says otherwise. That place was…" she shuddered, pulling the blanket tighter and picking at the edge.

Bucky didn't need reminding that Alice had spent some dark days in Austria as well. The thought shot into his mind as fierce as any episode, but clearer. He tried to keep his voice gentle as he asked, "Do you have trouble sleeping, doll?"

Alice grew still. "Sometimes," she admitted, sounding much like she had wanted to lie. "But I don't sleep much already, so it's hard to tell the difference."

"Why don't you drink the tea, then?" he probed. It seemed like she had a tea for anything and everything.

She made a wry face. "I don't like using supplies that are meant for my boys. I'm not the one shooting. I'm not the one dying."

He frowned. "We'll do a lot worse if you don't take care of yourself, Alice."

"I know that," she sighed. "It's just… not a choice I like to make."

Bucky wished she would. He wished that she would choose her own safety, if even just once, over the life of some young Private whose balls hadn't dropped yet. Alice wasn't supposed to be the one suffering; she was supposed to be the miraculous angel living above them, occasionally blessing them with her skills and gentle touch before returning to the sanctum of _somewhere else_ that wasn't Axis Territory.

"Buck?" Alice asked, poking his arm.

"Yeah, doll?" he replied, poking her back.

"Did you hear a word I just said?" Her tone implied that she knew he did not.

He nodded sagely. "Of course – you were telling me all about how you're gonna make some more of that hair wash soon, since you smell like you've been sleeping in a barn."

Alice's jaw dropped in offended shock. "I do not!"

"Are you sure?" he asked, sniffing at her shoulder. Alice laughed and leaned away, tucking her head against her shoulder in the damn _girliest_ gesture he had ever seen come out of her. "Smell pretty damn ripe to me." Her laugh came from deep in her chest, and not the high-pitched tinkling chime of a delicate dame back home, leaving it far more powerful and honest than most.

She pushed him away, but the shared blanket somewhat limited the distance. "Look who's talking! I haven't seen a single one of you bathe in the last three weeks!"

"Oh – you're watching us _bathe_ now?" he teased, enjoying the bright flush of red that spread across her face.

"That is _not_ what I meant and you know it," Alice defended, her ears turning red.

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "Tell me, Miss Shaw, do you enjoy an _authentic_ Parisian bath?"

Alice's lips quirked into a teasing smile as she finally embraced the joke. She batted her eyelashes at him and fanned herself delicately. "Why, Sergeant Barnes, a good American girl always buys domestic."

Bucky laughed, enjoying the heat that filled his chest. _God, give me the strength to keep my wits around this woman._

The tone of the evening softened as the snow collected on the ground, leveling a subtle hush to the ground. The conversation drifted like the subtle snowbanks, merrily rising and falling with an ease typically excluded from wartime talk. While Alice could send him into a frenzy like no other dame ever had, her presence was also the only moment of peace and calm he could hang onto with both hands.

Alice was real, the way foul-tasting medicine and hot coffee are real. Alice was real in the way that the sudden presence of a deer crossing the road is real, but doesn't always feel real; a moment stolen from another story, another life. She was living her own story, unapologetically disregarding whatever author tried to steer her back towards the modern mold of a woman.

Her eyes drooped heavily as she stared at the fire, the tilt of her head giving Bucky the occasional flash of Cinnamon and amber. "I missed talking to you," she admitted sleepily.

He hummed in response. "I'm a pretty swell guy, I'm not surprised."

"Dodo." Alice elbowed him in the side, but not very forcefully.

Her head fell to rest against his shoulder as she drifted off and Bucky felt no need to move her. A warmth of satisfaction, of relief, filled his chest as Alice's breathing steadied as she slipped deeper into what he could only hope was restful sleep. Bucky could feel the tension unwinding from his shoulders as he watched the snow twirling through the air, falling to earth with the gentlest of dancing spirals. _Call me crazy,_ he thought _, but I almost think she needed this more than me_. And he'd needed this.

Alice's gentle commands to breathe had stuck deep in his memory, adhered firmly to the shuddering fit when a wave of Shell-Shock threatened to drown him. There would be Alice's voice, repeating calmly and encouragingly as he remembered the steps required to suck air into his lungs. It wasn't the same, though, as seeing her face. It was a decent substitute in the middle of the night. It was a decent substitute in the middle of dinner. But it couldn't compare to seeing her fingers dance over the bullet. It couldn't compare to her ever-changing flickers of motion, the strange juxtaposition of feminine habit and muscular force that all wrapped together into the perfectly unique package of _Alice_.

It was great having Steve around, but sometimes he was just a physical reminder of everything that had changed. His face and body had filled out with more muscle than any man had a right to carry, and the difference between the picture he had in his head of _little Stevie_ , and the man in front of his could be… jarring.

Alice was already ever-changing. She was already a presence whose temperament and voice lilted and rolled like waves, breathing, riding, walking, and _alive._ She was an ever-moving, ever-fixed mark in a tumultuous world he was just learning to grasp with two hands.

His own eyes seemed too warm from the fire and he blinked to clear them. His head dipped and snapped up again as he tried to stay awake, but found his head tilting to rest against the nearest surface. It smelled like soapwort and smoke. A little sigh warmed his shoulder as his pillow breathed against him.

He leaned slightly to one side until his shoulder made contact with cold steel, propping himself up against the side of the truck that formed one wall of the tent to keep himself from falling backwards. After all – he couldn't sleep there. He could lean, though. He could lean here and rest his head against a pillow that sighed and smelled like soapwort and smoke.

Bucky moaned in complaint as his pillow moved an hour later and the blanket was loosely wrapped around him – not tightly, not restricted – removing his secondary heat source. _Go back to sleep_ , a familiar undulating voice encouraged, _you need your rest._

"Not th' boss'a'me," he grumbled stubbornly, still mostly asleep.

 _Of course not,_ the voice chuckled, and a cool hand brushed his cheek. _It's just a suggestion._

"m'kay then," he replied, letting himself dip deep down into sleep. He drifted off to the sensation of fingers running through his hair, soothing his anxious brain in waves with each pass. A faint humming of the voice; lyrical, rolling like the waves, quieted the last of his thoughts.

* * *

A/N: Not gonna lie, I played a fair amount Star Wars Music to write this chapter. Does anyone want to guess what song in particular?

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	26. Shall We Dance?

"You are the most insufferable person alive," Alice declared, peering from around her playing cards. Her glare was somewhat weakened by the rumbling, jumping motion of the truck as it meandered through the forest on a rough dirt road.

"I doubt that highly – I'm not even the most insufferable person you know," Gloria replied, fanning herself with her cards, her hand barely peeking out from the wrap of blankets engulfing the older nurse.

"Your eyelashes will freeze if you do that," Alice slapped a card down as Gloria did the same. "Ah – war," Alice declared, spotting the pair of Jokers peering up from the dual piles.

Gloria and Alice both slapped down their next card, and Gloria cheered in excitement, grabbing both piles into her hand and shuffling merrily. "Queens always take it for me!"

"I think you're cheating," Alice grumbled.

"You just haven't a spot of luck," Gloria beamed.

"I think Falsworth is rubbing off on you," Alice shot back.

"I should certainly hope so," Gloria replied. "I spend enough evenings rubbing up against him."

"Oh my god!" Alice cried, covering her ears. "I think my ears are bleeding!"

"Just to keep warm!" Gloria defended, and Alice howled louder.

The truck lurched to a stop without warning and Alice grabbed the side of the truck for support, twisting her wrist in a sharply painful motion. She hissed in pain, clutching her arm to her chest.

"You alright?" Gloria asked.

"Yeah; peachy," Alice answered, scrambling to stand and make her way to the front of the truck. "Why've we stopped?" she asked the driver, leaning forward into the cab section.

"Downed tree, L.T. They're clearing it now," he pointed forward, and she could just see the section of downed tree blocking the road. A few men were already going at it with axes, chopping it down into more manageable sizes. The chops echoed in a rattling fashion through the empty forest, the usual tree-song and rustling of Western Europe entirely subdued by winter. The eerie feeling left the approach towards the Maginot Line particularly tense.

"Oh look – what a showoff," Gloria commented from next to Alice, her breath fogging slightly. Alice tilted her head, spotting the man in question – Bucky had grabbed a large section of log much too large for a reasonable man to attach, and heaved the log out of the way without great effort.

Alice and Gloria's eyebrows shot up in synchrony.

"Well I'll be Whistle Dixie," Gloria breathed. "Nevermind, then."

 _He's stronger_ , Alice thought. _He's so much stronger than before Azzano._ The realization left her feeling rather ill, and an ashy taste rising in her mouth once more. There'd be no reason for anyone else to notice the change like she could. Rogers had only ever known Bucky to be stronger than himself, and the other Commandos had ever really known him when he was ill.

"Sit back, ma'am – we're moving soon," the driver instructed, turning over the engine to roar to life.

"Yeah, of course," Alice replied, but didn't move from her half-in, half-out position between the bed and cab of the truck.

"You going to let me finish whipping you?" Gloria asked from behind her, the sound of shuffling cards barely making it over the engine.

"I've lost the fun, I'm afraid." Alice's eyes were still locked ahead as the truck rumbled into motion again, replaying the last few minutes over and over again. All the men had climbed back into trucks, but Alice could almost see his face – beaming with pride and strength as he hauled tree trunks out of the road towards France.

* * *

 **December 31, 1943**

"Alright – remember; this isn't really R&R, we just happened to end up in the village for the night. Keep your sidearm on hand just in case, and rolling shifts for guard duty. These people are doing us a great service putting us up, and we'll do our best to protect them in the meantime." Steve was talking, but the bundles of energy that made up the Howling Commandos had stopped listening.

Having missed a proper Christmas, the collection of soldiers was more than happy to celebrate the New Year in the French village, no matter how close to the Maginot Line they had come. The roar of mortars was too far to interrupt the night, and any thoughts of the upcoming mission to destroy yet another munitions factory couldn't dim the delight in their eyes.

"If you're not on watch at the time," Steve continued, "the village has invited us to join in tonight's festivities. If attending, please be respectful. Dismissed."

The men did everything but howl in joy at the dismissal, the Sergeants struggling to grab their squads and assign watch shifts for the night before the entire unit vanished to the four corners of the earth. Bucky somehow managed getting assigned a shift himself, not too long after midnight, just in the spirit of equity – watch shifts were short so that all could enjoy the festivities.

The nurses were nowhere to be found, having quickly absconded to the church of the village – the best place for two women to spend the night, it seemed, was with a few nuns watching over them. Bucky suspected the little convent was hiding a decent-sized bath.

Without much else to do, Bucky watched as the villagers hung heavy cloth from building to building, providing a warm cover for the village square. Lanterns and lights were hung from every available hook and surface, transforming the square into a glittering dreamland of faerie lights.

"You opposed to company?" Bucky hadn't realized he'd spent a few hours watching the setup until Steve found him. He shifted from one foot, finding it buzzing angrily at his lack of motion for a few hours. If he'd stayed put much longer his shoulder would've adhered permanently to the stone wall he'd leaned against.

"Should I be worried if I've got a Captain's attention?" Bucky asked in reply.

"Only if you're skipping out on watch," Steve replied with a chuckle.

"I'm up after midnight," Bucky replied. "What about you?"

Steve nodded back over his shoulder. "I start soon – second shift. I should finish right as you're starting, then." He shifted on his feet and made a fiddly motion with one hand that Bucky recognized. Steve had always had some physical tells for when he wanted to ask an uncomfortable question, or had bad news.

Buck decided to save him the misery of deciding whether or not to ask. "You got a question you wanna ask, Stevie?"

His face portrayed his embarrassment. "I'm that easy to read?"

"Always have been."

Steve nodded. "Right; Alice Shaw-"

Bucky rolled his eyes and his head at the same time, stepping away and sighing deeply. "Not this again-"

"Now hang on a sec-"

"-I mean come on, Stevie, I already told you-"

"-I just wanted to say-"

"-I _don't_ want to talk about her-"

"-I just think it's a good idea-"

"-and there's no reason I can't do my job just fine-"

"-I was worried, Buck-"

"-without everyone asking all the time-"

"-but I'm not worried anymore."

"-just let it – wait… what?" Bucky had to ask as he'd both walked away from Steve and walked towards the collection of musicians that had started to warm up on the steps of the church that made up one side of the square.

Steve looked just short of smug as Bucky turned. He'd tucked his hands in his coat pockets to protect from the winter chill not entirely banished by the covers over the square, and it made him look more at ease than Bucky felt at that moment. "I said I'm not worried anymore." He glanced to the side as villagers started to fill the square, greeting them warmly.

Bucky sidled up to Steve, trying to stare him down. It didn't seem to work anymore. "Why's that?"

"Hm?" Steve asked, pretending not to hear. "What's that?"

"Why aren't you worried anymore?" Bucky asked clearly.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it?" Bucky couldn't remember if Steve had always been an insufferable asshole, or if the serum had just made it worse.

" _Steve_ -" Bucky went to grab his arm, but Steve put a hand around his shoulders, turning him slightly to face the crowd, their back to the church.

Steve squeezed his shoulder so Buck couldn't escape. "She's got one of your rounds, doesn't she? I can see her fiddling with it, and I know it's yours because I see you loading and unloading your rifle all the time and counting your rounds and spares to make sure they're all there. You went from counting forty to counting thirtyr -nine, and you don't count them so often now. You don't check every minute that you've got your rifle. You don't drift away so much." Steve turned the two of them as a chime of feminine laughter echoed through the square.

Gloria and Alice were walking down the steps, admiring the endless lights of the square, and Alice reached out a hand to brush against a garland of yellow paper flowers wrapped around a column. Gloria had put on a dress and done her hair while Alice had just turned up in her regular clothes, slightly cleaner than before. She caught sight of Steve and Bucky in their odd sort of embrace across the square and tilted her head a little, the question bright in her eyes.

Steve raised a hand to wave at the pair, and they both waved back. "Thing is," Steve said quietly enough for only Bucky to hear, "I think I have Alice to thank for that."

Bucky wanted to argue. Bucky wanted to tell Steve where he could shove his thanks. Bucky wanted to laugh and turn away from the picture of Alice walking down the stairs, already swaying to the music and joining the crowd of dancers drunk with frivolity, her curls bouncing with each heavy step.

What he said instead was: "Don't you have watch?"

"Right you are." Steve let go on his shoulder. "She looks like she could use rescuing already," Steve commented before walking away.

Both Gloria and Alice had been wrapped up in dancing almost instantly, several partners evidently offering hands. Gloria was enjoying herself immensely, but Alice looked uncomfortable, her partner holding a little too tightly to her waist and hand. She was leaning as far away as could still be considered polite, her face locked in a bitter grimace of a smile.

 _Steve's wrong_ , he thought as he crossed the square, politely turning down a few offers to dance.

 _It's just Alice_ , he thought, detouring to snag a yellow paper flower from the garland around the church's pillars, twirling it thoughtfully between his fingers.

 _I could pick any other dame and she'd be less trouble_ , he reasoned even as another part of his brain quickly came up with a plan for rescuing Alice from a series of other-enthusiastic French villagers.

Bucky slid up to the dancing couple, keeping a bounce in his step. _"Excusez-moi, mon ami, puis-je danser avec ma femme?"_

The man dancing with Alice looked shocked and a little delighted, and instantly handed Alice off to Bucky with a bit of a spin. " _Mes excuses, je n'avais aucune idee!"_

Bucky winked to the man as Alice took his hand, their weight feather-light as his heart in that moment. " _Nous nous sommes maries un secret."_

A lady swooned to their right as she spun past. " _C'est tellement romantique,"_ she sighed.

Alice looked confused, but relieved as Bucky led them through the crowd, following the flow of the rustic dance. "Thank you for that; I thought he was going to smash all of my toes to dust. What did you say?"

Bucky leaned close as the music slowed, bringing her tight against his chest. "I said you snore louder than a freight train."

Alice laughed loudly, cutting it short as she realized the atmosphere had changed. "That is _not_ what you said," she hissed with a smile.

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe you should have learned French, then."

Alice groaned. "Dernier is a terrible teacher."

"I could always teach you," Bucky offered.

"And what would that cost me?" Alice asked with a raised eyebrow.

An old Frenchmen cleared his throat loudly on the steps of the church, gathering attention and calling over the crowd that replied with a cheer. He made a joke and the crowd laughed, couples pulling tightly and sharing their New Year's kisses and well-wishes.

Alice looked up at him, the question in her eyes. " _Bonne annee,_ Alice." He held out the little yellow paper flower. "Is this the color of a California sunset?"

She smiled broadly, taking his proffered flower and tucking it behind her ear. "Happy New Year, Bucky. And… not quite."

Her smile faded, though, as she glanced around at the crowd. There was kissing, singing; all kinds of reminders that they didn't belong in such a peaceful, joyful place. The Howling Commandos were merchants of violence, and Alice evidently felt it just as keenly as a soldier.

"Hey doll," Bucky drew her attention, releasing a hand to tap one finger to his cheek. "How 'bout some New Year's cheer?" Alice's smile returned as she stood on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Bucky's cheek.

 _Steve doesn't know a damn thing about women_ , Bucky thought to himself as a satisfied heat filled his chest, _but he might just be right about this._

* * *

Alice walked through the little village on a meandering path, her hands shoved deep in wool pockets to keep them warm. The convent was quiet, and the beds she and Gloria had been offered were comfortable, but Alice couldn't sleep. It was _too_ quiet, and the beds were _too_ comfortable. She'd get better sleep propped up against a rock with a chorus of rifle-fire overhead, to be perfectly honest.

Her brain was also buzzing with stimulation following her dance with Bucky. He'd failed to surrender her attention until he had to excuse himself for the night watch, the only comfort being that he'd been appropriately apologetic.

There had been a shift in his behavior towards her; going from traditionally flirtatious, to irritably absent, to reconciliatory, to… Alice had difficulty defining it. A whimsical, poetic part of her brain wanted to call it charming – true, honest charm. Alice was fighting her own emotions about it – at once enjoying and hating the experience. She enjoyed it as any sane woman might; Bucky was attractive – and he knew it – and could be intensely charming when he focused his attention. She loathed the experience for the torture that it subjected her to; the knowledge of the future to come for the handsome Sergeant, the acceptance of her mission and all the self-flagellation it entailed.

The conflicting feelings muddied her brain and allowed for the lower part of her brain to take control of her feet, steering her towards the watch post – a glorified half-circle of sandbags at the main entrance of town. There was a station at each of the four cardinal directions, but Alice had seen Bucky walk in this particular direction.

The two soldiers on watch were sharing hushed conversation and Alice tried to shuffle her feet a little as she approached to alert them to her presence. The smaller of the two – a young Private – turned his head as she approached. "Evening, ma'am; you lost?"

Alice shook her head. "I'll take your watch, Private. Get some sleep."

"You sure, ma'am?" He was already moving to allow for her relief of his post, handing off his rifle as Alice held out a hand to receive it.

"Can't sleep anyway, may as well be useful," she shrugged it off with a smile.

The young man seemed unsure if he was mean to salute or not, decided for it, and turned to leave in a hurry. Alice stepped into the protected half-circle, leaning against the sandbags and getting comfortable.

"That was nice, but do you know how to use that?" Bucky commented, finally greeting her.

"Well enough, and it's true," Alice replied.

Bucky grinned. "I think you just missed me."

Alice flushed. "How can I miss someone I just saw an hour or two ago?"

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, just like Alice. "I don't know, doll, but you managed."

"Dodo," Alice grumbled, her hand playing with the new cord around her neck. It got tangled with the chain for her dog tags a little too easily, so she found herself fiddling with it often. It was somewhere between a nervous habit and a personal comforting motion.

"Whatcha got there?" Bucky asked.

Alice pulled on the cording, and a long rifle round slipped from under her shirt to gleam in the dim evening. "My pockets are usually full of gauze squares, so I figured this was a better place for it," Alice explained, tucking the bullet back under her shirt.

"Seems like a good idea," Bucky agreed with a different kind of smile. It wasn't his flirty grin, or the one he used to mask an episode. The tight shift around his eyes relaxed, and his mouth quirked up on one side. "Think it'll snow tonight?"

Alice shook her head. "No; it doesn't smell like snow."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. It made the rifle slung over his shoulder shift against his back and the mechanisms click slightly. "And what does snow smell like, Miss Shaw?"

"You never smelled snow in Brooklyn?" Alice asked.

He scoffed. "Brooklyn just smells like Brooklyn, doesn't matter what the weather is."

"Ah," Alice affirmed. "Well, I don't think I could do it justice."

Bucky hummed thoughtfully. "Well," he started, his tone bright with contained humor, "I would suggest we play cards to pass the time, but you drowned mine."

Alice's cheeks flushed. "Well," she started, her tone coarse and retaliatory, "I would suggest some coffee to help us stay up, but you didn't much appreciate my last batch."

Bucky took a moment to process, thinking back to the last – and only – time Alice had offered him a cup of coffee. His entire body shuddered in revulsion as a violent, visceral response to the memory. "Alright doll, you win."

Alice smirked – _success._ "What about a French lesson?"

"I never did tell you what it would cost you," Bucky replied.

Alice played more with the rifle round, missing how Bucky's eyes immediately followed the motion. "I imagine you'll tell me when my bill is due."

Their conversation drifted gently through the coarse winter night, ringing in the New Year with chiming laughter poorly restrained. For the one night it would have been considered a miracle for how close the Howling Commandos were to the front that they experienced a quiet evening. Bucky and Alice hardly noticed as the threads of their fates wove more tightly together as the souls remained blind to the motion.

* * *

 **Translation:**

Bucky slid up to the dancing couple, keeping a bounce in his step. _"_ _ **Excuse me, my friend, can I dance with my wife**_ _?"_

The man dancing with Alice looked shocked and a little delighted, and instantly handed Alice off to Bucky with a bit of a spin. _**"My apologies, I had no idea**_ **!** _"_

Bucky winked to the man as Alice took his hand, their weight feather-light as his heart in that moment. " _ **We were married in secret**_ _."_

A lady swooned to their right as she spun past. " _ **That's so romantic,"**_ she sighed.

* * *

A/N: OMG YOU GUYSSSS we finally passed 100 reviews! I weep with satisfaction.

I trapped myself at my desk to get this written, as I was coming close to my deadline for when the chapter was due. We're going to get back into some of the action next chapter, as I struggle to remind myself that this isn't just a romance novel and I do have an obligation to the plot OTL

 **Next Chapter due on or before: December 30**

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	27. Translating for a Frog

**February 3, 1944**

Alice stared at the date, scrawled in her journal. _Just under nine months to go_ , she thought, tapping her pencil thoughtfully. Propped up on one elbow in the nurses' pup tent, half buried under blankets to fight off the morning chill, it seemed implausible that the seasons were rushing past as fast as they were. She could hardly believe she was halfway through her mission.

"You coming, honey?" Gloria called, fingers pulling through a few loose pin curls to tease them out.

She was already put together for the day but Alice was purposefully lagging behind. "I'll be along – just want to get some thoughts down."

"Alright then," Gloria shrugged it off. "Suit yourself."

Alice waited until her friend was out of earshot and quickly shucked her wool coat, laying it out on the ground and running her fingers along a seam of the lining. _There it is_ , she thought as her fingers found a hardier thread. She pulled little scissors from her pack and made quick work of pulling the stitching out.

She folded over the lining, trying to limit the amount of quick sewing she would need to do to replace it, and lifted her head to make sure that no one was passing by. Sewn along the bottom hem of her coat, concealed by the lining, lay ten gleaming rifle rounds. The deep gunmetal gray color starkly contrasted the bright copper and bronze of 1940's artillery rounds, with a sinister shine that reminded her of Cable's metal appendages.

Alice snipped the threads holding each bullet in place and laid them out on her wool blanket, counting them a few times over to ensure they were all present. _Twenty_ , she counted for a third time. _A full box of rounds_. Just to be safe, she counted it a fourth time. There was no reason for any of the rounds to be missing – Alice, after all, had been the one to sew them in place back home. The very idea of her mission being closer than ever somewhat terrified her, even with all the time she had taken to prepare – both physically and mentally.

Alice pulled an empty, unlabeled canister from her special pack and popped off the lid before stuffing some gauze inside. The rounds followed, wrapped in a tight roll of gauze to prevent the metal from clanging around and damaging either the case or the bullets.

Alice let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as she capped the cylinder, returning it to her pack. "Okay then…" she whispered to herself. "Fix what you tore, now." She would have to use suturing thread, but at least it wouldn't be too obvious.

Alice hissed as she managed to stab herself with the needle, and stuck her finger in her mouth. When she examined it a brief second later she couldn't find the little stabby hole, even though she had tasted blood. _Odd_ , she thought, but returned to sewing.

"They're back, honey," Gloria called from outside the tent, "Aren't you up yet?"

Alice tied off her last knot, quickly snipping the loose thread. "Had to fix a tear in my coat – coming!" Her pack was only noticeably heavier to Alice, as she leather sat snugly against her lower back as a growing reminder of the passage of time.

"You're so slow this morning – everything alright?" Gloria asked, setting a hand on Alice's arm as she jogged to catch up with Gloria.

"Peachy," Alice replied. "Not fond of the cold is all."

The two nurses stood hip-to-hip at the edge of camp, watching the soldiers trail back home. The victorious returned a little sootier in a few places, a little scuffed around the edges, but nonetheless apparently in good spirits; a success, then. A few men were riding in a truck, holding arms awkwardly or just looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"That's our boys," Gloria pointed to the truck and Alice agreed.

The caught the handles on the truck as it rumbled by and hauled themselves up into the bed, impatient to begin work after a month idle. The attack on the Maginot Factory had been aborted a half-dozen times for safety's sake, and once more for good measure as Captain Rogers had 'a bad feeling' about it that day.

"Morning, gents; didn't feel like walking back, did we?" Alice greeted as she and Gloria both began a quick assessment of their patients. Alice zeroed in on a man hiding in the back, clutching his arm with a white-knuckle grip and trying not to make eye contact. "Glo," Alice caught Gloria's attention, nodding towards the back.

"I see him," Gloria spoke softly, not looking up from the wrist she was assessing. "I'll block the exit."

"Thanks," Alice replied, moving to the back of the truck. "Hey honey, you need me to look at that arm?"

The soldier's head snapped up, his face obviously pale as he shook it from side to side. "I'm fine," he squeaked.

"Shrapnel caught him in the arm," reported the man next to him. "He's worried he's going to lose it."

"Not if I've got anything to say about it," Alice soothed. "Ok, honey, I need you to show me your arm, alright?" The soldier shook his head vigorously and Alice frowned. "What's his name?"

"Peterson," his companion reported. "Adam Peterson."

"Adam," Alice let her voice lilt in the most soothing fashion. "If you don't let me look at your shoulder your friends will pick you up by your armpits and take you to our makeshift medical tent, where they'll then hold you down as I check you out. Is that what you want?"

Adam continued shaking his head in a frantic side-to-side motion hanging somewhere between manic and panic. Alice sighed, nodding to his friends. They grabbed him swiftly as he tried to stand and he yelped, cried out, and pleaded with them to release him.

He was hauled out of the truck bed by his friends having hooked their elbows under his armpits, as Alice had warned, and carried the brief distance across camp to the makeshift medical tent. It wasn't a glamorous place – just four walls and two cots – and Alice pointedly ignored the stares of the few men waiting to be seen outside. They weren't the imminent cases and they knew it, but habit had become waiting outside the tent until the nurses were done with more serious cases; it also provided a bit of entertainment when giving each other a ribbing for needing to be seen.

This wasn't an entertaining case, however. Alice's actions looked almost cruel as she ignored the soldier's pleadings to be left alone as his friends hauled him up onto the cot. She moved quickly, decisively, and with steady hands.

Alice ripped open his shirtsleeve to expose his injured arm; sure enough, there was a nasty piece of shrapnel embedded deep in his arm. She tilted his arm as best she could, using all of her force to hold it in her grasp as Adam tried to withdraw it again.

"Sterile water," she pointed and ordered, and an unknown soldier handed her the bottle. She removed the stopper with her teeth and poured the contents around the sharp steel scrap, washing away the soot and powder and clotted blood that had accumulated there. Alice lifted his arm to see if the shrapnel had gone all the way through his arm – _no_ , she determined, just embedded in the space between his ulna and radius bones. _Ouch_.

Alice pointed again at her bag. "Bone needle – thick and straight." More hands retrieved it for her. She sterilized it quickly and inserted it at the base of the shrapnel, not pausing to apologize for the discomfort. Adam would find much greater comfort in her finishing quickly than empty apologies. She probed around with the hollow needle, feeling for pulsating arteries and firm veins, and finding none too close to the shrapnel. _Safe to remove._

"Okay, this is going to suck," she warned. Alice braced herself and pulled the shrapnel out. Adam let out a wet, pitiful, wailing cry that cut deeper than a bone saw. Alice threw the shrapnel into a bin and clamped down with a pad of gauze on his arm as it started to bleed again. She grabbed the bottle of sterile water and washed the open wound as best she could. "Whisky," she ordered, pointing at the little bottle of medical alcohol she kept on hand. That got poured into the wound next as a precaution against infection.

She probed around with sterile forceps just to make sure the shrapnel hadn't broken into smaller pieces, and deemed him safe to patch up. Swift stitched pulled the raw edges of his forearm together, and she placed yarrow under his bandage, pressed against the stitches, to keep bleeding to a minimum. "You," she pointed at the soldier who had told her his name. "Watch him for the next full day. He's not to take it off or get it wet. Bring him back to me in 24 hours to be checked on."

"Yes ma'am," he replied with a solemn nod. Adam whimpered a little as his friends helped him walk out, but Alice consoled herself with the confidence that he would not be losing his arm today.

"Alright," she turned to the waiting line, "who's next?"

* * *

Alice chewed slowly on her dinner roll, enjoying the texture of the bread as the rare luxury that it was. Dinner after a long day of work was always her moment of silence – the eye of a hurricane that smelled like blood and felt like loose flesh. It was her time to focus entirely on wat she was eating as a way to block out the formation of memory.

Dernier approached with an apologetic smile, sitting across from her at her little makeshift table. _"Désolé de vous déranger, mademoiselle, mais avez-vous un moment pour un vieil homme?"_

Alice returned his look with one of her own. "I'm sorry honey; I don't speak French."

Dernier presented her with a tender wrist and a feeble smile.

Alice made an 'o' with her mouth, and looked around for a familiar face. She spotted him easily a few tables away and waved to get his attention. "Hey – Buck!" He pointed to himself in a 'me?' gesture, and Alice waved him over. Bucky excused himself from the other commandos.

"What's buzzin', doll?" he asked, twirling a chair around to sit in it backwards.

Alice jerked a thumb at Dernier. "You speak French, think you could help?"

Dernier seemed pleased that Bucky had joined them and held up his wrist, chittering away. _"Je suis tombé dans un trou - je l'ai tordu."_

"He says he hurt it when he fell in a trench." Buck crossed his arms over the back of the chair, resting his chin on his arms. "He also says you have gorgeous eyes."

"Oh, stop," Alice said weakly, pulling her bag around to her front and pulling out a few canisters.

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. "Hey, I'm just translating for the frog."

" _Tu es ridicule,"_ Dernier laughed, wincing slightly as Alice tested the flex of his wrist. _"Si j'étais vous j'aurais déjà épousé cette belle créature."_

Bucky continued to speak as the Frenchman prattled along. "You are the most beautiful creature he has ever met."

"Tell me, Dernier – do you flirt with Gloria like this?" Alice asked cheekily, slipping a splint along his wrist and wrapping it in cloth to hold it straight while he slept.

Bucky watched Alice intently, and Dernier had to clear his throat to get his attention. _"Elle est peut-être déjà mariée. tu ne sais pas,"_ Bucky said to Dernier, shrugging a shoulder. " _Ou serais-je alors?"_

Dernier glanced at Alice, taking in the way she was looking at Bucky, then grinned at Bucky. _"Définitivement pas."_

" _Je suis Alice_ ," she said with a deadpan expression, tucking in the end of the splint. She looked up at Dernier. "See? I can do it too."

Dernier blinked, then burst out laughing, and Bucky swiftly followed. "Good try, Doll."

Dernier clucked his tongue disapprovingly. _"L'anglais est une langue si plate. Pourquoi appeler quelqu'un une poupée alors qu'il pourrait s'agir d'une vision, d'une lumière ou d'une étoile?"_

"What'd he say?" Alice asked, gathering up her unused supplies and putting them away.

"He's making fun of Americans for always calling dames 'doll'," Bucky replied honestly.

"Well, he's right; I'm not a doll, I'm a Warrior Queen!" she declared, punching a fist in the air victoriously.

" _Elle dit qu'elle n'est pas une poupée. elle est une reine guerrière."_ Bucky translated for her.

" _Est-ce que tu vois? Elle comprend la beauté d'un nom!"_ Dernier sighed dreamily. _"Reine Alice, Alice la guerrière, tellement vrai."_

"And?" Alice asked curiously.

Bucky smirked. "He says we should call you _semoir_."

Alice frowned. She hadn't heard that word exchanged between the two men. "What does that mean?"

Bucky smirked mischeviously. "It means 'troublemaker'."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Get out of here, you Dodo."

"Oh – doll; here," Bucky slipped one hand into his pocket and reached for Alice's free hand with the other.

"Yes?" Alice asked, not resisting his little tug.

"I thought you should carry one of these – never know when you might need one." Bucky placed a small knife in her hand, the vivid red grip a stark contrast to her pale skin. Alice blinked down at it as Bucky was slow to release her hand. "Besides," he dropped his voice a little so only she could hear, "is this the color of a California sunset?"

"Not quite." Alice's lips twitched in a smile. "Now get out of here before I give you a _reason_ to be here."

He gave her a lazy salute. "Yes, Ma'am; but you should really join us for dinner instead of sitting alone. Some of the fellas ask about you."

Alice blinked in surprise, fighting against the rush of heat that followed one of Bucky's earnest smiles. "I'll think about it," she replied, tucking the red knife into her little leather pack.

* * *

Alice choked a little on air as she sat upright in the pitch darkness, her chest heaving. Her eyes darted wildly around the tent, searching for something to hold on to as _real_ as she fought off the nightmare. Cool metal brushed her chest as she patted at her torso, finding the heavy rifle shell dangling there. She gripped it with white-knuckled hands, gulping down air.

 _I'm in my tent_ , she thought repeatedly. _I'm alright._ Nightmares pressed closer, whirling her heartrate higher and higher like a spiraling twister of mania. She could taste the blood and smell the fear carrying over in the dark of night.

Alice gripped the cold bullet around her neck and it bit into her skin with icy fangs. She lay back down on her bedroll, the cold, heavy brass pressing down, down, down on her chest. Down, down, down on her heart. Down, down, down on her fear.

* * *

 **Translations:**

Alice jerked a thumb at Dernier. "You speak French, think you could help?"

Dernier seemed pleased that Bucky had joined them and held up his wrist, chittering away. _"_ _ **I fell into a hole – I twisted it**_ _."_

"He says he hurt it when he fell in a trench." Buck crossed his arms over the back of the chair, resting his chin on his arms. "He also says you have gorgeous eyes."

"Oh, stop," Alice said weakly, pulling her bag around to her front and pulling out a few canisters.

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. "Hey, I'm just translating for the frog."

" _ **You're ridiculous**_ _,"_ Dernier laughed, wincing slightly as Alice tested the flex of his wrist. _"_ _ **If I were you I would have already married this beautiful creature**_ _."_

Bucky continued to speak as the Frenchman prattled along. "You are the most beautiful creature he has ever met."

"Tell me, Dernier – do you flirt with Gloria like this?" Alice asked cheekily, slipping a splint along his wrist and wrapping it in cloth to hold it straight while he slept.

Bucky watched Alice intently, and Dernier had to clear his throat to get his attention. _"_ _ **She may already be married, you don't know,**_ _"_ Bucky said to Dernier, shrugging a shoulder. " _ **Where would I be then**_ _?"_

Dernier glanced at Alice, taking in the way she was looking at Bucky, then grinned at Bucky. _"_ _ **Definitely not**_ _."_

" _Je suis Alice_ ," she said with a deadpan expression, tucking in the end of the splint. She looked up at Dernier. "See? I can do it too."

Dernier blinked, then burst out laughing, and Bucky swiftly followed. "Good try, Doll."

Dernier clucked his tongue disapprovingly. _"_ _ **English is such a flat language. Why call someone a doll when it could be a vision, a light, or a star?**_ _"_

"What'd he say?" Alice asked, gathering up her unused supplies and putting them away.

"He's making fun of Americans for always calling dames 'doll'," Bucky replied honestly.

"Well, he's right; I'm not a doll, I'm a Warrior Queen!" she declared, punching a fist in the air victoriously.

" _ **She says she is not a doll. She is a warrior queen**_ _."_ Bucky translated for her.

" _ **Do you see? She understands the beauty or a name!**_ _!"_ Dernier sighed dreamily. _"_ _ **Queen Alice, Alice the warrior, so true**_ _."_

* * *

A/N: like the parallel from Cinnamon? Just like Bucky, Alice is finding help with her nightmares in the solutions the other created.

Next Chapter due on or before: January 2, 2019

I LOVE MY REVIEWERS: AquaBluey, SabakuNoGaara426, PistolHattersButtercup, Sanguinary Tide, FALLING-ANGEL24, Guest, Natsuko26, Love. Fiction. 2018, and nekokairi!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	28. One Black Coffee

Arnold squinted down at his computer keyboard as he clacked out an email. The silly keyboards got smaller every time he asked Madeline to buy him a replacement – the keys didn't much appreciate his banging method of writing emails, and he seemed to break them faster than something so simple should be breakable.

 _To: M. Collum_

 _Re: Captain America's Howling Commandos; Amended Exhibit_

 _Mr. Collum,_

 _Regarding our previous communication, when would be an opportune time to discuss updating the exhibit? I trust you've given my materials a good once-over and would agree that the Angel of Azzano deserves recognition within the exhibit._

 _As we were able to open the exhibit on a significant date for Captain Rogers - his birthday, July 4th - I would like to ensure that Lieutenant Shaw is recognized on November 17_ _th_ _. Please respond as soon as possible so I may begin putting materials into production._

 _Respectfully,_

 _A. Abernathy  
Museum Curator  
Smithsonian Air and Space Museum_

Arnold re-read his email to ensure he wasn't being too demanding before hitting 'send', and his computer made a satisfying _whoosh_ noise to confirm it had been sent. Arnold spun in his desk chair to turn and admire his conspiracy-type pin-board. A melancholy-looking Alice Shaw stared off to her left. "What was your secret, my dear?" Arnold asked the old photo, half-wishing for an answer.

His computer dinged in reply and Arnold turned, squinting at his inbox.

 _To: A. Abernathy_

 _Re: Captain America's Howling Commandos; Amended Exhibit_

 _Production approved._

 _Good luck._

 _-Malcolm_

* * *

 **Apr 22, 1944**

Spring breathed a light hand over Northern Italy, following the Howling Commandos as they marched south once more. Steve was anxious about the effect of returning to Italy on his men, but they all seemed generally in good spirits; an impetus of victory appeared to be holding them aloft.

With days growing longer the Commandos were able to enjoy mealtimes with the sun up, and cooking fires could be larger, and heartier meals followed. Steve tried to make sure he was last to eat – his portions generally significantly larger, he never wanted to rob another soldier of his meal.

He was just sitting down to eat with a spoon halfway to his mouth when Nurse Potter caught his attention, holding a slip of paper nervously. "Captain Rogers," she said hesitantly. "Could I speak to you a moment?"

"Of course," he replied, inviting her to sit.

"Thank you," she sighed as she sat, smoothing the paper down. "Now that spring is coming, we need to discuss a resupply as soon as possible. Nurse Shaw has done an admirable job with ensuring that we didn't run out of supplies by supplementing with local plants, but-"

"Wait," Steve held up a hand. "We get airdrops all the time, and Nurse Shaw does _what_?"

"We don't get medical supplies with the airdrops. You didn't know?" Gloria made an amused face. "Nurse Shaw specializes in herbal medicine along with her… proclivity for trauma."

"And how critical are our supplies, exactly?" Steve asked.

Gloria made a wobbly motion with her hand that seemed inherited from the other nurse. "We've got another two months as long as we don't take substantial damage, and then she can restock with local flora."

"And what if we _don't_ use weeds from the woods?" Steve asked, trying to keep the question inoffensive.

"Captain," Gloria's tone was light but had a note of warning. "If Alice didn't supplement our supplies we would have run out two months ago."

"Two-?" Steve choked a little on his coffee.

"Two months ago," Nurse Potter repeated, standing from the table and sliding her paper across to him. "Please see that those supplies make it into the supply order."

"Yes ma'am," Steve agreed, folding the paper with barely a glance and tucking it in his breast pocket.

Steve walked through the day mulling over his conversation with the nurse, trying and failing to focus on the maps and plans set before him and deferring decisions whenever possible. He didn't dislike Nurse Shaw, but something about her just didn't sit right.

He caught glimpses of her through the day; checking on patients, and exchanging brief pleasantries with the men. More often than not she retrieved a handful of dried leaves from a small pack that sat flush to her lower back or produced roots and tubers from her pockets and handed them to apparently exceedingly grateful patients. They would get tucked under bandages, or steeped in hot water, or chewed plain.

Nurse Shaw seemed to realize he was watching her at some point, catching his eye and giving him an awkward smile and a nod. She was uncomfortable with the attention, and swiftly excused herself once a patient or a soldier tried to offer her something in return, or express gratitude beyond an enthusiastic 'thank you'.

"What did she give you?" Steve asked a Private after Alice had excused herself.

"Purple Nutsedge, Sir." He showed the Captain the root cutting with a grimace. "Tastes godawful but it keeps m' teeth from fallin' out."

He saw her stop by the mess tent an hour or so before chow, speaking with the cooks in happy chortles that often seemed out of place. More treats from her pockets were handed off. They tried to give her bread or chocolate, but she refused with a wave of her hand.

"Wild garlic and parsley," the cooks answered when he asked. "Helps beef up the stew and tastes damn good."

Steve had to admit, as he took his heaping helping of said stew at supper, that it was a fair sight tastier than plain beef and potato stew. Alice Shaw touched every aspect of the Howling Commandos with a veiled hand, contributing as quietly as possible. Steve couldn't decide if she was hiding something or just shy.

"What do you know about our supply chain?" he asked Bucky, who was seated at his side and enjoying his own bowl of stew.

"What do you wanna know?" Bucky asked, slurping from his spoon.

"When was the last time we got resupplied?" Steve asked.

Bucky breathed heavily, thoughtfully, raising his eyebrows. "Well… it's been a while. We get airdrops of ammo, potatoes, stuff like that – nothing good, but we do alright."

"What about medical supplies?" Steve asked, defining his focus.

"That's up to the nurses- you'd need to ask Alice or Gloria about that." Bucky craned his head over the crowd, spotting one. "Alice!" Bucky called her over with a wild wave of his hand.

"Buck, wait-" too late, Steve protested.

A flash of blonde hair cut through the crowd like a fish dodging rapids, making the rippling motion look both effortless and precise. The pretty nurse sat heavily across from them, her bowl clacking against the wood bench table. "Hey there, fellas," she greeted, setting a cap that had been tucked under her arm on the table.

"Haven't seen you around for a while, doll." Bucky oozed charm, leaning across the table.

The nurse shot him a surprisingly cold stare for warm amber eyes. "Have you been bleeding anywhere?"

Bucky's smile and charm faltered. "No…"

"Then that would be why." Her dark eyes released Bucky, and she looked up and over the sea of men's heads. "Do you think there's coffee? I've been up for hours and there's still so much left to be done."

"I'll get it!" Bucky was gone before Steve could stop him. Nurse Shaw sighed and shook her head at his enthusiasm, taking a few hesitant sips of hot stew. She held herself differently than Nurse Potter; a different angle of her jaw, a different turn when called. Most dames turned their head jaw-first – a way to avoid unnecessarily disturbing carefully-set curls - but Nurse Shaw turned eyes-first. It made her look tense; even as she smiled at soldiers who greeted her she appeared to be looking them over for hidden injuries, calculating losses and supplies and sleep. Of all the members of the camp, save for Steve with his super-human abilities, Nurse Shaw looked the most rested.

If the stories about her had been true – or just half-true – she should have been asleep on her feet anytime someone came calling. There should have been dark, smudgy marks under her makeup-free eyes, and a waxy complexion that powder would fail to cover, even if she had chosen to use it. Next to Nurse Potter – dark-haired, red-lipped – Nurse Shaw should have looked plain. Instead, she looked refreshed, alive, and untamed. Her poorly-curled hair caught the lightest of breezes as she turned her head. Her eyes moved to Steve as Bucky ran off to get coffee, returning his calculating gaze.

Steve did his best to avoid looking away. "So where are you from, Miss Shaw?"

"New York," she replied with a smile amused by some secret joke. "Saratoga Springs."

"I don't think that's really in New York," he teased lightly.

"Well forgive me _forever_ for not growing up in Brooklyn." She laughed. "I recently moved to Maryland, anyway – so I suppose I'm not really from the Springs anymore."

"What's in Saratoga Springs, anyway? Trees? Some farmland?"

She smiled. "And horses."

"Oh, horses; I see, you've sold me on the superiority of the Springs to Brooklyn."

"I should certainly hope so." The twinkle in her eyes was definitely laughing at him.

She turned her head to observe the crowd, her curls catching the wind. He could see a pale scar that ran through her hair just behind her ear, heavily faded. A childhood accident, maybe? It couldn't be the scar from her incident in Austria – it was far too pale.

She looked out at the gathering of soldiers like a sheepdog might observe his flock – watchful, protective, and concerned. A wrinkle seemed to live between her brows as she watched Steve's unit. Steve cleared his throat, deciding to get around to the topic that had been nagging at him like a cold that wouldn't quit.

"Miss Shaw," he started, "why didn't you ask for a medicine resupply when our supplies started to run low? We have the full backing of both MI6 and the US Government – there was no need to pull plants from the forest."

Nurse Shaw's attention slowly returned to Steve, dragging through the crowd. "Captain Rogers, how long do you think it takes to make Penicillin?" All laughter was gone from her eyes.

Steve frowned. "How is this relevant? The army keeps huge numbers stockpiled-"

Nurse Shaw held up two fingers. "Two weeks. It takes two weeks to make Penicillin. Here's another question – how is Penicillin typically transported? I'll go ahead and answer that question for you – glass bottles. Here's a final question for you – what would be the safest method for a resupply while we're on the Axis side of the Front?"

This time she waited for him to answer. "Airdrop," he replied curtly.

Nurse Shaw nodded slowly. "How much confidence do you have in the ability of glass bottles to survive a shot-out parachute fall? How sure are you that we can get to the package on any given day; that we won't be fighting our way through an ambush; that we won't be retreating from the enemy; that MI6 and the good old US of A actually sends every single supply we ask for?"

Shaw stirred her stew idly with a spoon. "A normal resupply will come soon – we're close enough to the Allies now that they can send supplies by armored truck. Until it arrives and I ensure they sent everything we actually _need_ , I'll continue collecting my little plants. I have no desire to risk thousands of valuable, hard to make doses that could go to other Divisions when I'm perfectly capable of keeping us all breathing"

"Ma'am," Steve leaned forward along the table, his jaw tight with conflict. "Is there a reason for your complete lack of faith in the two strongest countries in the world?"

Shaw laughed bitterly but arrested it quickly. "I don't have faith in countries or governments, Captain; they're run entirely by agenda and bad credit." She straightened as something over Steve's shoulder caught her eye, and a little of the light returned to her eyes. "I hold my faith in _people_."

Bucky slid into the bench next to Steve, two cups of coffee held in his hands. He slid one across the table towards Nurse Shaw. "Your coffee, doll – as sweet as you."

The nurse looked down into the cup and scowled. "This coffee is black, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky smirked. "Like I said…"

"I was going to give you one med-tent visit guilt-free for the favor, but-" she took a hefty swig of the black coffee, seeming not to mind the strong unsweetened taste after all.

"We both know that would be a lie," Bucky finished. The nurse laughed and nodded.

She downed the last of her coffee, and grabbed her cap from the table. "Stay safe, Gentlemen." She clapped a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Stay salty, Buck."

Steve raised an eyebrow at the odd statement as Alice walked away, returning a few warm greetings with the men. "What does that mean?"

Bucky shrugged. "Hell if I know; she says a lot of weird stuff." His gaze followed the small nurse as she weaved through the crowd. "One hell of a dame, though."

Steve snorted. "She seems to be the first one immune to your charms."

"You sure about that?" Bucky waggled his eyebrows.

"Is she…" Steve searched for the right word, "dangerous?"

"Alice?" Bucky asked, laughing. "Oh, absolutely; but that depends on your definition of 'dangerous'."

"Buck," he dropped his voice. "When we were putting together a team, I was told that her paperwork isn't exactly… complete." The suspicion had been lingering in the back of his mind – not enough to act on it, but it didn't help that something about Alice Shaw set of a single warning light in his head. Her colloquialisms were just off enough to be odd, and she was hostile and defensive about her methods. From everything he had been told, Alice Shaw did not exist prior to her ship's arrival in London. That could be easily explained away with the common occurrence of missing paperwork, but with Alice… something just smelled off.

Bucky frowned. "What are you saying?"

Steve hesitated to say it, but it needed to be said. "How can you be sure she's not a spy? It's the kind of question we need to be prepared to answer if need be."

"Steve, C'mon," Bucky rolled his eyes. "She's saved _my_ life at least twice, and Dugan's, and Falsworth's. She made sure most of us survived that Factory in Austria. If Alice Shaw is a spy then I'm a Hawaiian Hula Girl. And anyway," Bucky squinted, "I thought you were all grateful that she was helping me?"

"So it _is_ because of Alice," Steve pried.

"Oh for the love of Pete!" Bucky yelled, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

* * *

Dum Dum chuckled as he watched the two old friends arguing at the table. He could hear – damn, half the men could hear – that from Bucky's particular note of frustration it had to be about Alice. If Dum Dum had wanted to intervene, he would have told Steve not to bother Buck so much about the funny girl. He would have told Steve that his frustrations were _nothing_ compared to when Alice was a prisoner, hidden away in the dark. The looks they shared were _nothing_ compared to the way Bucky had grabbed for her as she slipped between his fingers.

But Dum Dum didn't need to intervene again. He had done his part in ensuring that Alice would be nearby and no one needed to lose half their brain from worry. Now that they had no real way to get away from each other – intentional or otherwise – Dum Dum rather enjoyed playing with their heads a little.

The previous night was a delightful example.

Dum Dum was on watch – a rare shift just to spread the misery around – when he passed a fire burning low at the edge of the camp. He took a double take as a familiar voice drifted past, finding two familiar figures huddled around it, wrapped in separate blankets to fight off the lingering Spring chill. _Don't those two ever sleep?_

Alice tilted her head as she laughed, playing a little with something that glittered in the light around her neck. She scrunched her nose and said something Dum Dum couldn't hear. Bucky shook his head and made an exaggerated shape with his mouth, which Alice replicated, speaking a little louder. " _Infirmière_ ," she said. Bucky nodded, beaming proudly.

"Hey kiddos," he said loudly as he approached. Alice smiled and returned the greeting, but Bucky looked less than pleased. _Should have already made your move then, Buck._ Dum Dum sat down next to Alice, taking off his bowler hat and setting it in his lap. "How'ya been, L.T.?"

She wobbled her hand a little. "It helps that it's getting warmer."

Dum Dum couldn't agree more as he warmed his hands around the fire. "I'm glad you're joining us for meals again," he added.

"I heard I was missed," Alice replied with a tender smile.

"I know I missed having a pair of hands around to poke at my flaws," Dum Dum chortled, bracing his arms on his knees in just the right way to flash a healing bruise in Alice's direction. Without fail, her eyes honed in on it faster than a fly finds shit.

"Dum Dum," she warned. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Me? Now, why would I avoid my favorite witch doctor?" He replied, looking dramatically hurt.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Come on, Sassafras; let's get that arm looked at." Dum Dum dutifully followed the smaller woman, smiling at the sensation of angry daggers stabbing into his back, propelled from Bucky's eyes.

Oh yes, Dum Dum had enjoyed it greatly. Part of him hoped that pulling them apart in little ways like that might make them cling more forcefully together. Not that he wanted to find them going at it in the bushes, but maybe some sort of recognition that they needed each other.

Dum Dum remembered seeing young married ladies gazing at their fellas like that as they marched off to war. He remembered catching his Ma looking at his father like that on the rare occasion that she didn't feel the urge to throw a pan. He remembered his little sister – who Alice so boldly resembled – making that inimitable expression as she walked down the aisle to his not-half-bad brother-in-law who'd gone and gotten himself blown up not much later.

There was nothing he could do to force the two idiots to realize the opposite idiot felt the same. He was all but certain Alice understood what was happening, but couldn't for the life of him explain why she hadn't done anything about it.

Dum Dum had tried asking her about it once. Alice had – in this order – turned red, scoffed, and pressed down hard on Dum Dum's bandage while muttering something about his 'overactive imagination', turned redder, and scoffed again.

 _Damn fools, the lot of you._ A damn fool was Alice. A Damn fool was Bucky. A Damn fool was Steve, who just couldn't let it go. Dum Dum groaned internally as he stopped in his tracks – halting his avoidance of the argument. He couldn't just walk by, he _would_ need to intervene. If Steve pressed too hard, Bucky might recoil from Alice, and that just wouldn't do.

"You'd think they'd keep the coffee in better supply – especially for those of us with the night watch," Dugan said loudly, rapping his knuckles against his empty tin as he approached the Captain and his friend.

It drew Rogers' attention away from Bucky as he commented on the coffee, adding his own commentary on flavor and availability. Dum Dum hazarded a glance at Bucky, and the knot of concern loosened in his chest. Bucky was staring out into the crowd, following the retreat of a head of blonde hair moving at a measured pace through the gaggle of soldiers.

Dum Dum's mustache hid his brief smirk.

 _Success._

* * *

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! (Just barely made this chapter's deadline – whew!)

So Alice has started to slip, exchanging her learned terminology for more modern slang. It's nothing truly obvious, but the careful observer might find it odd (like Steve). I had some conflict writing Steve's perspective, because as much as I wanted them to get along great I needed to recognize that much of what she does is insanely weird.

Also, the last part here with Dum Dum is just in my outline as "Dum Dum Interruptus".

Next Chapter due on or before: January 9.

I LOVE MY REVIEWERS: AquaBluey, Sanguinary Tide, TikiKiki, PistolHattersButtercup, Bookwork18 (guest), Love. Fiction. 2018, nekokairi, and Chrysanthemum Fairy!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	29. Persephone of Spring

**June 16, 1944**

A heady warmth spread gentle hands across Czechoslovakia, bringing a horn of plenty in the form of overwhelming resupply as the Howling Commandos made a wide sweep around Western Europe. Trucks trundled along full near to bursting with ammunition, food, and best of all: medical supplies. Alice and Gloria happily rode in their truck with feet dangling off the back, given that there was no more room in the truck to fit so much as an extra gauze square.

Alice was hesitant to accept the plenty as permanent, and in the longer daylight hours made the time to forage for plants, as was her habit. She made sure to check in with the watch as she left camp, and promised to return before dark.

Grain followed Alice like a large and loyal guard dog, his silver head ducking down occasionally to enjoy the easy meal her foraging presented. Alice snickered anytime he lifted his head and his ears were dusted with pollen like some strange bumblebee.

Following not long after, to absolutely no one's surprise, Bucky would usually wander out of camp with his hands in his pockets and his rifle slung over his shoulder. He could give any reason imaginable for leaving camp more recently he had opted for a simpler and more honest 'gotta keep an eye on Alice; she might plant herself by accident'. The watch would laugh, agree, and send him along.

She wasn't hard to find; choose the nearest field of wild plants and look for a big silver horse wandering around looking a little nervous. The horse may have looked nervous, but his small companion was quite the opposite, as was evident when she stood up in the tall grass and waved to Bucky.

Alice looked like a different person in the field. Her arms were full of big, flowery fronds, all dusting her arms with pollen. She glowed nearly golden in the light. Her shirtsleeves were rolled up in a crisp fold above her elbows, but in an interesting contrast she hadn't curled her hair. It flowed over her shoulders in wild waves and spirals, as untamed as the field around her.

A glitter of brass caught the light as she waved; the rifle round dangling free over her shirt whispering promises of sunshine and warmth. Bucky felt a similar comforting warmth settle deep in his chest at the sight of it. "Hey, doll," Bucky asked, plucking at a stem of goldenrod. "Is this the color of a California Sunset?" He knew it wasn't, but he enjoyed the twist of her lips as she restrained a sharp rebuke in favor of a 'not quite'.

He sank into a comfortable sitting position next to Alice as she pulled a collection of plants into her lap, easing them from the earth with practiced ease. The low afternoon light cast a warm glow in the field, giving the atmosphere a dreamy feel.

"What's this one for?" Bucky asked, helping Alice pull stems from the ground.

"This is Yarrow," she explained, pulling the leaves from the stem with care. "It's good for stopping bleeding, but it's also good for clearing blood clots."

" _Bonne médicine,"_ Bucky added.

"Good medicine?" Alice asked, and he nodded, plucking a strand of grass and sticking it in his mouth. It waved in the breeze that rushed through the field with a lazy hand.

She slipped her hands around a stem that looked like a poorly-drawn daisy. "This is feverfew," she started.

"Good for fevers," Bucky continued. "And headaches."

"Very good," Alice praised. "You remembered."

"Course I did," Bucky added. "You wrote it down and everything."

" _Bien sûr,"_ Alice smirked. _Of course._

"Very good," Bucky parroted. "You remembered."

Alice's eyes flashed in the way that said she had a vicious comeback ready. "Lucky thing, too - you didn't write it down."

"I'm hurt, doll." He clutched at his chest. "Really; I think I might just fall down and die without a sweet dish helping me out." Bucky flopped backwards, the tall grasses folding underneath and around him, making a canopy of green and yellow.

"Get bent, Bucky," Alice replied, and she seemed irritated by his overt flirting. Bucky wasn't sure what 'get bent' meant, but he didn't think it was a compliment.

Bucky lifted up onto his elbows as Alice focused again on the herbs in her lap.

He played a little with the grasses under his hands, tearing long leaves into little pieces. He had been flirting on purpose to test a theory and was disappointed to find he was right. While Alice returned light banter and teasing easily, her humor completely died in the face of real flirting. "Doll," Bucky asked, twirling the stem nervously between his fingers. "Why don't you ever go on dates?"

Alice paused only briefly, her face twisting into a scowl. "If this is the beginning of some joke at my expense, I don't appreciate it."

"I'm serious; why don't you ever just have some fun?" He sat up, pushing grasses out of his face. He was within arms-reach of Alice and a few of the plants in her lap tickled his knees as he crossed his legs.

"I'm too busy to have fun. Besides," she tried to smile at him and it didn't meet her eyes, "between you and Dum Dum I have all the company a girl could ever ask for."

"Alice," Bucky pressed, reaching out and taking slight hold of the rifle round around her neck. He tugged on it gently her attention. "Have dinner with me."

"No," she replied, pulling the round out of his hand and refusing to look at him.

"Why not?" He wasn't angry, just confused. Alice returned much of his playful conversation, and they spent a whole lot of time together. By all the signs he could see, she should have said yes.

"Because…" she searched for the right phrase, pulling too roughly at some leaves and they tore in her hand. She swore, and tried again, "Because it's not _fair_."

"What's not fair?"

"All of this!" She yelled, throwing away the torn leaves. "After… after all of this is over, I'm never going to see you again, and I don't want to think about that."

"What are you talking about, doll? Of course you will."

Alice tugged at the rifle round, anxiety evident on her face. "No, I won't. You'll…" she trailed off, and something in her expression broke. "You'll go back to New York a hero, have your pick of easy, low-maintenance wives, and live sprout a kid or two within the year." Bucky laughed, and Alice threw a handful of roots at him. "Don't laugh at me; I'm serious!"

She wasn't too far off from his original idea of how the war would end for him. A girl on each arm and a medal on his chest; that had been the goal. _Plans change. "_ You really think I'd just forget about you? Leave just like that?" Bucky snapped his fingers. Off at the There's end of the field, Grani raised his head out of the wild grasses, his ears flicking in interest.

Alice looked at him, and she looked tired. Maybe it was the lengthening afternoon shadows as the glow of sunset yielded to twilight, or maybe she was casting her own shadows, but Alice's eyes carried a deep grief beyond words. The barest hint of purple dusted the hollow under her eyes as a signal of her sleepless nights, as did her unkempt hair.

As he tried to lean closer, for comfort, for reassurance, Alice looked away. The dying sun cast new light on her face and the shadows were gone. "We should get back."

He got it.

He _got_ it.

Alice didn't _want_ to care. He didn't know why, and he sure as shit was going to find out, but Alice didn't want to care about anybody past some distant line she'd drawn in the sand. It hurt her to think about it, and he didn't know why. Thinking about it caused her immeasurable grief, and he didn't know why. She was alone on purpose, and he needed to know why.

"Hey," Bucky barked as his mouth moved faster than his brain, "I don't care if you don't think you're fun, or if you worry too much, or if you think I'm gonna forget about you." He shrugged his shoulders, grinning easily. "I don't care."

The last of the sun slipped over Alice's shoulder and sniffed out the golden glow. "Okay," she whispered.

Alice looked frightened of what he might say next. He wanted to press the issue; to make her see that she was… she was what? Wanted? Needed? Alice had made it fairly clear that she held her beliefs close to her chest, making it all but impossible to change her mind. She could save a thousand souls - and probably already had - and still think that she wasn't important.

But maybe it wasn't his place to forcefully change her mind. Maybe it was his duty to simply… be there. To remind her little by little that she was valued and held in high esteem by those who - he cut off his own thought as his brain tripped over an unfamiliar sentiment. She was well-liked and treasured as irreplaceable, he determined as his brain re-started.

He liked being with Alice. Walking with her through the wild fields of Europe quieted the demons raging in his brain, and calmed his restless heart. Her voice could find him in the darkness, reminding him to breathe, reminding him to breathe, reminding him to _breathe._

So what did it say about him that he couldn't put that in words she would understand? He wasn't a man of poetry; any flowery sentiments that blossomed in his brain shriveled out of reach as soon as he tried to harvest them for good use. He was himself; a man of action, a man of charm and light dancing feet. He wasn't sure if that was what Alice needed. He wasn't sure if he was what she even wanted.

 _But I'm gonna find out,_ he resolved.

"Okay," he replied. "Now we can go back."

Alice looked relieved. She nodded, scooping up her satchel gently so as to avoid losing any harvested flowers or leaves. She whistled for Grani with a different kind of trill - softer, more birdlike - and he lifted his head a dozen or so yards away, a loop of ivy caught in his mane flopping over his face.

"That horse is pretty dumb for how smart he is," Bucky commented, taking the satchel from Alice without comment.

"Oh stop," Alice swatted his arm, "he's my favorite."

"I thought I was your favorite?" Bucky asked, making a comically defeated face.

"Third, maybe fourth on a good day."

"What if I shoot Dugan?"

"Then you drop to sixth for poor sportsmanship - what is wrong with you?"

"Not enough attention as a kid."

"Dropped on your head is more likely."

Grani shouldered Bucky out of the way to nip at Alice's shoulder and he stumbled to keep his footing. Alice laughed, patting the horse's nose. "I think he heard you."

Bucky let the horse take Alice's attention for a few minutes and just enjoyed seeing her relax again. She always seemed so tense; the air around her humming with frustration and an anxious energy. In the fields of plants, she was relaxed. With Grani, like the nights he had watched her train him, she was relaxed. _And sometimes,_ he thought to himself, _with me, she's relaxed._

The corners of his mouth lifted slowly into a smile, and the heat in his chest settled into deep, warm coals.

* * *

 **June 30, 1944**  
 **0200 Hours**

Alice tugged at a knot with her teeth to firmly secure a bundle of Plaintain leaves, having hours before stripped her fingernails down to nearly nothing. Even with the recent resupply she was hanging bundle after bundle of herbs to dry as she began hoarding for winter and the plunge deeper into Latvia and Lithuania. _Assuming today's mission goes as planned,_ she thought.

The concern always lingered in the back of Alice's mind that, simply by being present, she would change the course of history so irrevocably that the Allies might even lose the war. She was more concerned that her friends would die, but the other worry was present.

"Lieutenant?" a voice called in the dark, interrupting her train of thought.

"They're back?" She replied, cleaning her hands on her trousers and turning to face the soldier.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded, his helmet bobbing backwards and forwards.

Alice jumped down from the bed of the truck, grabbing her satchel and looping the strap over her shoulder. "They're setting the tent up?"

"Just now, ma'am," he confirmed.

"Anything serious?" Alice asked,

"Not that I heard." She didn't have to run, then.

The crowd collected around the hastily erected tent was in good spirits, chatting and cheering among themselves as Alice approached. "Four down, two to go!" Jones cried, pumping his fist in the air.

"Come on in, I'm just setting up," Alice beckoned.

"Three- we still don't know where that last factory is located as of yet," Falsworth corrected, rotating his shoulder stiffly as he entered the tent.

"Way to ruin the mood," Jones sighed. "Who throws an entire bandolier of grenades, anyway?"

Alice head snapped to Jones. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"If you had seen the tank coming through the town, you would understand." Falsworth answered. "However, I nearly threw my shoulder out."

"I'll give it a look in a moment - or would you prefer Gloria?" Alice asked with a smirk.

Falsworth's ears pinked at the suggestion. "Whoever is available first will be fine."

"Mhmm," Alice winked conspiratorially. "I'll make sure she's awake, Monty."

"Much obliged," Falsworth thanked her, pinking across his cheeks.

Alice ducked around some loose canvas to exit the tent, nearly running over Dernier in the process. " _Des blessures?"_ Alice asked Dernier, catching his arm to avoid stumbling.

" _Non, madame,"_ he replied, patting her hand with a smile. " _Vous ave des feuilles dans vos cheveux._ "

Alice blinked, trying to keep up but only catching every fifth word or so. "What?" she asked.

" _Vos cheveux,_ " he pointed at his head, then Alice's. " _Feuilles._ "

Alice let go of Dernier's arm and patted her head, finding a few crunchy remnants of leaves lingering in her hair. "Oh - _merci, Dernier,_ " she thanked as she pulled the pieces out of her hair and letting them float to the ground.

She was still finding bits in her hair as she approached the nurse's truck and the lean-to style tent she and Gloria called home. "Glo," she called softly. "Gloria."

"Mmmmmmmwhassgoinon?" Came the mumbled reply.

"Falsworth needs to take his shirt off for you," Alice replied cheekily.

"Is it Christmas already?" Gloria already sounded more awake, and there came the distinct sound of hair clips being released.

"A couple of months early never hurt anybody," Alice replied. "I'll tell him you'll be along in a few minutes."

"Bless you, honey. I'll make sure to always wake you up for Bucky," Gloria promised.

"Oh - that's not necessary," Alice defended quickly. "It's not like that."

"Oh, silly me - of course not." Alice could almost hear Gloria's eyes rolling.

"Don't take an age getting pretty," Alice warned, and returned to her kept her at a moderate level of activity for most of the night, checking for concussions, treating strains and a few minor grazes. Overall, it seemed Czechoslovakia had been kind to the Holing Commandos. The barest hunts of dawn tinged the horizon as she sent away her last patient and began to tidy the tent once more.

"All quiet again?" Dum Dum asked, knocking on a tent post to get her attention.

"Generally a quiet night," Alice replied.

Dum Dum set a hand on her head as she passed by. "Who finally told you there were leaves in your hair and ruined our fun?"

Alice brushed his hand off. "Dernier- you're an ass."

He grinned. "Best breed there is."

"That wasn't a compliment!" Alice retorted.

"What's that?" Dum Dum asked, cupping a hand around his ear and turning away from Alice. "The President wants to give me an award for outstanding heroism?" He turned back to Alice. "Well you heard the man; I've got to go."

"I think you might've had a stroke if you heard that."

"What's that? _Two_ awards for bravery?" He called out, a hand over his heart. "It's too much!" He ducked out of the tent, passing Morita on his way in.

" _You're too much!"_ Alice called after him, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You getting some breakfast with us, L.T.? We saved you some coffee." Moria asked, nodding back towards the mess tent.

"No; I should clean up." Alice wasn't enthusiastic about the prospect.

Morita senses this and pushed a little harder, moving to stand between her and the mess. "Aww, come on; it'll still be there after a cup of coffee."

Alice glanced at the scattered supplies, shrugged, and decided not to bother. She shrugged. "Sure, why not?" Morita laughed as she tossed a roll of bandages over her shoulder and it landed perfectly in a basket.

* * *

A/N: I love Alice, I really do. Torturing her hurts me, and I felt it was important to shed some light on Bucky's side of her withholding her feelings/affections as a results of that time-travelled-and-now-your-life-is-fucked torture. Alice likes Bucky - a whole lot - but it hurts her to think of being close to him and losing him when he falls from the train.

Next chapter due on or before: January 11

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	30. Persephone of the Underworld

**September 21, 1944**

The rubble of the Lithuanian factory burned hot against their backs as the Howling Commandos strode back towards camp with a spring in their step. They had hidden the jeeps and trucks just outside of the little village that had hidden the factory and the walk was a good way to burn off excited energy.

"That almost seemed too easy," Bucky joked, refilling clips with rounds as they walked. "We'll be home by Christmas at this rate."

Jones clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Careful - that's what they said about the last one."

"Hey Barnes," Dugan called, tossing him a wild apple. "It's not orange, but red and yellow make orange, right?"

Bucky caught the objects turning it over in his hands to look at the two colors. "Thanks."

"How much longer you think you can keep this up?" Jones asked.

"Until he's married, I'd say," Morita joked. "Isn't that when most fellas stop trying so damn hard?"

"She has to agree to a date, first," Dugan teased.

Bucky shoved Dugan's shoulder but he didn't have the decency to stumble. "I'm gonna remember this when you fellas are trying to get a date - you better believe it."

Steve stopped, holding up a hand for the Commandos to halt. His eyes darted through the trees ahead of them and his shoulders tensed.

"Steve?" Bucky asked, keeping his voice quiet as he approached his friend.

"Do you hear that?" Steve asked.

The shuffling of feet slowed behind them as the line of soldiers came to a final halt, letting the forest fall to a hush. Ears strained to listen through the deadly silence, past the crackle of fire that had fallen behind them.

A faint _pop… pop pop_ echoed through the trees.

 _Gunfire._

A rumble of thunder shook the earth beneath their feet.

 _Mortars._

Steve took off at a dead run to the jeeps, now just visible through the trees, and the rest of the Commandos followed as the terrible realization washed over them. Engines roared to life, whining in complaint as they were pushed to motion before the engines could warm up.

Bucky slid into the back seat of a Jeep with Falsworth as it slowed just enough to let them climb in. "Do we know what's going on?" he asked, retrieving the clips he had just refilled and double-checking the rounds.

A Specialist in the passenger's seat was listening intently at the mobile radio unit. "Hydra went after the camp while we were taking out the factory," he reported.

Bucky's mind raced. "They're trying to cut off our supplies to take us out at the knees."

"It's damn clever," Falsworth added, checking his ammunition beside Bucky.

"Damn dirty fighting is what it is," he snarled. "Can't this thing go any faster?" Bucky barked at the driver. The vehicles were all practically flying through the trees, but visions of a blood-stained head of blonde hair were flickering through Bucky's mind.

 _Breathe,_ Alice's voice whispered to him.

The private shook his head. "Not without blowing out the engine, Sir!"

Bucky's voice dropped to a dangerous timbre. "So it can go faster."

The private gulped nervously and stomped on the accelerator.

* * *

It had been cold comfort to arrive at their original camp to find it completely abandoned. Tents burned on the ground, and the smoldering remains of a jeep left an acrid taste in the air, but there were no green-clad bodies to be seen. The Commandos had checked – thoroughly – before moving to the secondary rendezvous site. The only bodies were Hydra.

However small the company had been, it was clear as they moved through the forest that the team assigned to protect the nurses and the supplies was among their best. Hydra assault vehicles were crashed against trees, flipped, burning, and otherwise destroyed.

"Small strike force," Bucky commented. "Twenty men or less."

They rumbled past the last of the wrecked vehicles, stopping each time to look for wounded comrades, no one ready to ask the question out loud. _Did we lose anyone?_

They had a half-hour to think about it. The question followed them down the narrow road, sitting between roaring engines and darting between the trees. It caused glances to be shared with a grimace, and landed between the eyes to play tricks in the light it cast.

No one was breathing as they slowed in their approach. Men appeared from the trees, waving them closer as they lowered rifles. Visible relief painted faces on both ends of the greeting, and shaky breaths hissed between teeth.

The trucks remaining showed evidence that they hadn't escaped unscathed – chunks missing from the bed with deep plasma burns, bullet holes; anything that could have happened, happened.

Bucky leaped out of his Jeep as he spotted Grani stomping his hooves along the outer circle of the crowd. He tried imitating Alice's whistle to get the horse's attention, and while it wasn't terribly accurate it did the trick. Grani's ears pricked at the sound and he trotted towards Bucky, lipping at the Sergeant's fingers. "Hey, stupid; where's Alice?"

"He's not supposed to run off, but he doesn't listen to anyone but Alice." Gloria reached around Bucky to grab Grani's dangling leads. "She should be on her way; we got a radio from the airlift about an hour ago that she was alright when they picked up Specialist McGregor." She chewed on her lip. "Falsworth?" she asked in return.

"He's fine," Bucky replied with a relieved grin. "Thanks, Gloria."

Steve joined them, nodding his head to the nurse. "Miss Potter, any casualties?"

Gloria shook her head. "Remains to be seen – we've got a man mid-lift right now. A few grazes and a burn or two, but we gave them one hell of a fight."

"What the hell happened?" Bucky asked.

"Hydra targeted the supply trucks first, took out half of our food and ammunition and burned the medical tent to the ground." Gloria pursed her lips. "It's just luck we hadn't moved everything for the day yet-only about half." Gloria sighed. "That being said, it's still a little slimmer than we like to run."

Steve nodded in understanding. "I want both of you in those Kevlar shirts and helmets at all times - understood? If there's one thing that's not easy to replace, it's you two."

"Yes, Captain," Gloria confirmed. "I'll be sure Alice gets the message." She gave Bucky a meaningful look and led Grani back towards the edge of the crowd where he wouldn't accidentally kick anyone.

"How'd Hydra even know we were here?" Bucky wondered out loud, taking a moment to take in the nearly impossible luck they had enjoyed up until that moment.

Steve paused, considering. "There were only two factories left from the map – I think they guessed."

"We _hope_ they guessed," Bucky corrected. "If they had two teams, one at each factory, it'll be a hell of a lot worse in Latvia when they're backed into the last corner."

* * *

The nervous laughter and relieved smiles spread like an infection that mutated into quiet commiseration after all of the adrenaline finally wore off. A cloud of uncertainty had drifted into camp, given wings by the realization that they had, quite narrowly, escaped what could have been a terribly fatal ambush.

Gloria and a handful of privates finished their new inventory not long after sundown, confirming her initial assessment that they had been run down by about half of everything – food, ammunition, and medical supplies.

"Can we finish the mission?" Steve asked.

Gloria nodded. "It's not too late in the year – Alice and I can forage well enough to keep you fed and healthy. The real question is whether or not you feel you have enough ammunition to take on the Latvian factory."

"Can we get you some coffee?" Dum Dum offered his cup.

Gloria shook her head. "I'd really just like some sleep – it's been a long day."

"Thank you, Miss Potter." Gloria nodded as Steve dismissed her.

"Of course, Captain – please don't hesitate to wake me if anyone needs something before Alice returns." She walked towards the patched-up nurses' truck and climbed into the back. They were usually afforded more privacy, setting up on the outside of camp, but no one was taking any chances from now on.

Someone had the clever idea to clear the middle of the bed of the nurses' truck and lay down the two bedrolls - sleeping on steel wasn't the most comfortable, but they would be protected from gunfire on every side while sleeping. From the nervous glances Falsworth was making in Gloria's direction, Bucky had a pretty good idea who.

"Buck?" Dum Dum got Bucky's attention, pointing behind him. "She's back."

Bucky turned; a lone Jeep trundled through camp, the engine smoking slightly as it rolled past. The engine was smoking, but Bucky couldn't see the riders as it parked behind the nurses' truck.

"Steve," Bucky started to ask, but he interrupted.

"Go, Buck," he waved with a smile. "We'll figure out a plan in the morning."

Buck didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed his rifle and walked at a pace just below a jog, following the hissing sound of an overworked engine. Alice's jeep looked – by far – the worst remaining, and Alice was nowhere to be found.

"Hello, Sir," Frederickson greeted from the ground, not bothering to salute. He was just sitting on the ground next to the Jeep, taking a breather. Or, alternately, all the strength had left his legs as he had tried to walk away from the Jeep. A haunted shadow had parked under his eyes, looking for all the world like a man who had just nearly tripped into his grave.

"Where is she?" Bucky asked.

Frederickson pointed to one of the few tents that had been saved in the ambush – set up as a private space for the ladies to wash up and change since their tent had been lost. "Scrubbing up, Sir. Bit of a mess back here."

He wasn't lying – the backseat of the Jeep was a splattering, gory mess of blood and spent rifle shells. Bucky didn't wait to ask whose blood it was – if it was Alice's, he needed to see her. If it wasn't Alice's… she probably needed to see _him_.

Bucky knocked on the tent post, and a muffled reply came, "just a minute." She sounded tired.

"It's me, doll," Bucky raised his voice.

"I'm decent," Alice replied, her voice cracking. Bucky took that as an invitation and pulled the tent flap out of the way.

Alice's arms were braced on the edges of the full wash bin, holding her up as her head hung low. Her arms still stained with blood she looked even paler. "It's not mine," she croaked before he could ask. She didn't move from the edge of the basin – not to greet him, not to start washing her arms. "Are you alright?" she asked, her mouth barely moving.

"Not a scratch," Bucky replied, grabbing a rag from the hook. He moved slowly, like around a skittish horse, as he dipped the rag into the basin Alice was gripping so tightly. Bucky took the wet rag to her face, wiping away the streak of blood smudged there.

"That might be mine," she said, still staring down at the water.

"No, ma'am," he said, finding only smooth skin as the blood washed away. "Not a scratch; you're lucky like me." She frowned, reaching up a blood-encrusted hand to touch her face. Bucky caught her hand before she smeared her face again. "Just trust me."

She lowered her hands to the edge of the basin. Now she seemed to remember why she was standing there, dipping her hands into the water and staining it a deep pink immediately. "What happened?" Bucky asked, handing her the washcloth he had used on her face as she started to scrub her arms clean.

* * *

Alice flinched low as a mortar exploded nearby, but kept her hands firmly clamped down on her patient's leg. "Hold him still!" she ordered as he writhed in pain. A bullet zipped past her cheek with a quick slice of hot fire, and Alice flinched away. _Close call,_ she thought as a dribble of blood slipped down her cheek. _I should probably put my helmet on._

Alice found some comfort in that Gloria had been loaded out already, taking Grani and the three trucks with the remainder of their supplies and evacuating to the secondary rendezvous site. _How the hell did Hydra find us,_ Alice wanted to know. They were always careful when the main attack force was off on a mission; they kept campfires low, smoke at a minimum, and silence reigned supreme with hushed conversation.

"I need to get you out of here!" Alice's helper yelled while still making a valiant effort to restrain her patient. It was all but impossible to hold him down, and Alice couldn't blame him. His leg below the knee was a squishy mess of disorganized bone fragments and oozing shreds of muscle. He was begging, pleading for them not to let him die, _I don't want to die, I don't want to die._

Alice ducked again as a mortar exploded just outside the tent and the thick canvas caught at the edges. She needed to get the wounded soldier away from camp – into a truck and headed for a hospital – but she couldn't reliably keep him on a stretcher, restrained, and clamped down on his wounded leg all at once.

 _He'll die if I try to move him like this_ , Alice thought. _Well,_ she resolved _, if he's going to die if I don't move him, I might as well try something dangerous._ Alice let go of the man's leg and held two fingers hard against the sides of his neck to cut off the brain's blood supply. _One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five Mississippi…_ He stopped struggling as his eyes rolled back into his head. Alice kept the hold for another solid five seconds, just to ensure he was fully unconscious.

"He's out but he won't stay that way for long – let's go," she ordered as she let go of his neck, barely managing to keep the tremor of fear out of her voice as she returned the pressure to his leg.

With nearly perfect timing a small jeep rolled up to the tent and Alice waved it down. She loaded the unconscious man into the back and climbed half on top of him, keeping the mangled flesh as straight as possible in the back seat.

"The nearest Allied hospital is a thousand miles from here," she said as the Jeep pulled out of the decimated camp, raising her voice to be heard over the explosions.

The driver yelled over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the bouncy dirt road as he negotiated around shelled mortar-divots and blazing tents. "There's an abandoned airstrip not far from here; if we can get him there, we can get him a ride to France."

"Floor it!" Alice barked, reaching a free hand down and unlacing her boots. She yanked the shoelaces free and tied them tightly around the man's thigh as a makeshift tourniquet. The jeep lurched violently as the driver changed gears and stomped on the accelerator.

Alice ducked her head as gunfire zipped past again. She looked over her shoulder, pushing loose hair out of her face as the wind whipped it around in an attempt to blind her. Something between a tank and a truck was following them; the black steel emblazoned with the red Hydra symbol cut aggressively through the underbrush.

" _Fuck!"_ Alice swore. "We don't have time for this; Rifle!" she called to the driver.

"What?" he called back, clearly not understanding what the nurse wanted with his rifle.

"Gimme your damn rifle, soldier!" Alice roared, wiping as much blood off her hands onto her trousers as possible.

Not daring to question her again, he passed Alice the rifle. Alice seized it roughly and crouched as high as she dared, pulling the bolt back to load a round into the chamber. She pressed her cheek against the stock and ignored the faint sting of the graze on her cheek. Alice took a steadying breath, held it, and returned fire.

* * *

Alice scrubbed at her arms with the washcloth a little rougher than Bucky would have liked. "I got the driver and the truck flipped. I think it caught fire right after. We got to the airstrip about the same time the plane did. Pretty quick load-up; the flight nurse was nice." Alice threw the washcloth in the basin. "I didn't even ask him his name. How terrible is that?"

"McGregor," Bucky supplied.

"Good to know," Alice whispered.

Bucky waited. As long as he'd known her, Alice had set the pace of her life. She answered questions when she damn well felt like it. She deflected thanks and comfort as fervently as men dodged bullets. She liked what she liked, and she wouldn't take any substitutes. So he waited - he waited for Alice to show him what she wanted.

Alice held her hand out, reaching in the dark for a comforting presence. Bucky took her hand, pulling her towards him with an insistent grasp. Alice didn't try to resist, and wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face in his chest. Bucky tried to wrap his entire torso around her, letting her hide from the world in his shadow.

"I've got you." Bucky rocked slightly from side to side as Alice trembled, adrenaline leaving her in a rush and taking all of her strength with it. "I've got you," he repeated. "I'm here, and you're here with me." Alice choked back a few struggling breaths, holding on to Bucky's shirt like she was drowning. "Breathe," he reminded gently, stroking her back. With how close she was, Bucky could feel when she took a few shaky breaths.

"I thought I knew what I was getting myself into," she breathed into his shirt.

"None of us knew," Bucky answered. "I think maybe we weren't supposed to."

"No… it's just-" Alice made a frustrated noise and squeezed her arms tighter, if that was at all possible.

"I know; this definitely isn't what nurses sign up for." Bucky patted her back. "C'mon, sweetheart; you need to lay down." She shook her head fervently, not moving her face from his chest. "That wasn't a question, doll."

"You can't make me," Alice protested weakly.

"Bet?" Bucky asked softly.

"No bet," Alice muttered.

"Too late," Bucky replied as he took a swift knee, wrapping his arm around Alice's knees as he leaned forward. She flopped over his shoulder as he stood up and carried her like a sack of potatoes. _Pretty light sack of potatoes_ , he thought. She didn't weigh nearly as much as he thought she might. Hell, he'd carried _guns_ that weighed more than her.

"I hate you," Alice mumbled; her only form of protest. "When did you get so strong?"

"I eat my vegetables like the nurses tell me," Bucky replied.

He'd have expected Alice to swear, or protest more, but she just lay across his back like some drunk being carried home from the bar, bouncing a little with each step. Her behavior – or lack of behavior – was worrying him. Sure, nurses weren't prepared like the men for seeing combat, but this was _Alice_. Alice was supposed to be invincible – the Witch of the Western Front, the Angel of Azzano – she was supposed to be… the stuff of legends.

But it wasn't fair to put that on her. It wasn't fair to expect her to be a damn super-soldier; that wasn't her job. Her job was to wrap bandages, and treat trench-foot, and set bones. She wasn't supposed to be shot at, and _definitely_ not expected to shoot back. But she was _Alice_ , and she couldn't let anyone hurt, even if that meant she fell to the bottom of the priority list. So Bucky fully intended to carry her up the list again, one step at a time.

Gloria was already fast asleep when Bucky set Alice back down on her feet at the back of the truck that was now their tent. "You got your bullet?" Bucky asked. Alice gave him a feeble grin, producing the round from under her shirt and spinning it in her fingers. "Good girl."

"Who's on watch?" she asked, tucking it away again.

"I am, sweetheart." Bucky gave her a leg up into the truck.

"But - Buck, you need sleep too," she protested, pausing half-way up, and Bucky had to pat her leg to get her in motion again.

"Go to sleep, Alice. I'll be right here." He swung his rifle down from the shoulder Alice hadn't been flopped over, holding up like an explanation.

Alice looked unconvinced but finally retreated into the bed of the truck. Her head disappeared from view as she laid down and he heard her pull off her boots as they thudded against the steel, and the wool-on-wool rustling sound as she pulled the blanket over herself.

He'd never known a dame to be so resistant to being taken care of before. Every date he'd ever been on enjoyed having doors held open, chairs pulled back, tabs paid, and arms held as they giggled girlishly. But not Alice. _But she's never been like other dames_ , Bucky chided himself as he leaned against the side of the truck, looking over the tailgate to catch a glimpse of Alice.

Alice was as sharp as a thousand nails scattered on the floor and as protective as the most seasoned guard dog. She wasn't a dame who liked sitting around and eating bon-bons; Bucky couldn't even picture her doing that if he tried.

Alice was… the internal silence you felt watching the waves break on the shore. Alice was a quiet room after a too-loud dance hall. She was blowing out the candle and bedding down for the night, waking up to hot oats and good coffee.

 _She's… home._ 'Home is where the heart is'; wasn't that the phrase?

The thought felt right. It felt solid and real, the way her voice in her head helped him to know what was real and what was a waking nightmare. He didn't get a flutter of butterflies in his stomach when he looked at her, but a settling calm like walking in the front door and hanging up your hat at the end of the day.

 _Alice is home_.

Wherever she was, he needed to be. Wasn't it just a gas that James Buchanan Barnes, flirt extraordinaire who could have any girl on his arm back home, would just fall dead nuts about a dame he couldn't have?

Alice rolled over as she drifted off to sleep and Bucky could see she had a hand clutched tightly around the long rifle round that hung around her neck, just as tight as a kid might hold onto a favorite blanket.

 _That's my girl_ , he decided with resolve. _She doesn't know it yet, but she's my girl._ He could almost reach her from where he was standing. His fingers itched to pull on a blonde curl just to feel it pull back through his fingers. Bucky looked away, returning his attention to his job of keeping watch overnight; he wouldn't be much of a good man if he let his girl get hurt while he was making eyes at her.

 _My girl_.

* * *

A/N: This chapter resisted being written. Like… hard. I had to put some content that I wasn't entirely satisfied with, but I know that y'all have been so patient I just went with it.

Who'd have guessed that Bucky would realize he was in love before Alice?

This stupid tender stuff makes my little weepy heart happy. I liked the idea of Bucky and Alice falling in love – real, _lasting_ love – before they ever had a true 'romantic' moment. They've bonded in violent times as two people who can count on the other to always be there, not the "we're destined to be together and he makes my stomach all jittery" kind of puppy-love.

Next chapter due on or before: January 12

I'm going to have to ask you for your most SUPREME level of patience while I work on the remaining chapters. They are very difficult to write as we've now gotten past all the content I would have classified as "filler" and into the meatiest, roughest, most emotional part of the story. Please be patient. Please shower me with love and reviews as I work on these.

I LOVE MY REVIEWERS: Sanguinary Tide, Love. Fiction. 2018 and PistolHattersButtercup!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	31. Fallen Angels

**October 30, 1944**

Alice rubbed her arms a little as the morning chill resisted yielding to sunrise. The early Latvian autumn was a little rougher than she had anticipated. She stared down at the date in her journal. A thrill of anxiety hummed in her chest and she tapped the pencil irritably against her leg.

She felt the urge to take out Cable's rounds and count them again, even though there was no reason for any to be missing. It was just… it was so _soon._ Time had flown by faster than she ever could have anticipated - when she'd arrived, the idea of spending a year and a half just _waiting_ was beyond her comprehension. She'd worried that she would lose track of time - somehow, she wouldn't be in the right place at the right time, or she'd just forget to follow Captain America that fateful day.

 _Tomorrow._ Unfathomable.

"Miss Shaw," the Captain called for her and Alice snapped the journal shut and slid it into her jacket pocket.

"Good morning, Captain – what can I do for you?" she asked, jumping down from the bed of the truck. "Do you need something for the mission tomorrow?"

 _Tomorrow._

Unfathomable.

Steve shook his head. "I thought you'd be interested in knowing that Specialist McGregor survived."

Alice breathed a deep sigh of relief, resting a hand on her chest. "That's good to hear." It had been weighed heavily on her, wondering whether or not all of it had been worth it.

Steve offered her a rare smile. "He's got a short debrief in London, then he's headed home. You saved his life, Miss Shaw."

Alice was well aware that Steve didn't much like her. Respect; yes. Trust; maybe? But Alice knew that his beyond-perfect senses must have been able to pick up on the fact that she just didn't belong in 1944. She could hardly blame his suspicion; it almost impressed her, giving her better respect for their leader.

"He did lose his leg, I imagine," Alice mused.

The Captain gave her a somber grimace. "I believe so. Small price to pay for keeping his life, ma'am." The Howling Commandos had yet to lose a man to combat. The pressure to keep everyone healthy grew with every factory they destroyed, even if no one expected the two nurses to work a true miracle.

Alice shrugged. "I don't imagine he feels the same way, but thank you for letting me know."

Steve gave her a respectful nod and left her to her own devices. Alive fiddled with the edge of her journal sticking out a bit from her pocket. She wasn't writing anything that could seem odd; it was more just to track her days and keep on schedule. Her schedule may only have consisted of a single moment of action on a single day, but Alice also used it to keep track of her patients day-to-day. She had started writing them down not long after her arrival at the 111th F.H. as a way to just keep sane.

Alice had seen her patient load drastically decrease after joining the Howling Commandos, and there was a big gap around her time as a Prisoner of War, but Alice found it soothing to review from time to time. She did her best to keep personal commentary out of her entries but sometimes a little sassiness was included just for fun.

"Hey, doll - got a second?" Alice looked up to find Bucky standing a few feet away, holding out two clasped hands hiding a little surprise. "Hold out your hands," he said.

Alice raised an eyebrow in suspicion."If it's a bug of any kind I'm throwing it at you; fair warning."

She cupped her hands under Bucky's and he opened his. A bundle of shoelaces fell into her hands. "Just in case," he said. "For your pack."

"There won't be a lot of room left in there with all the stuff you keep giving me," Alice commented even as she swung the pack around and opened the top flap. She twirled the shoelaces around her fingers to straighten them into a more organized package and tucked them between two canisters. They fit alright, not pushing anything out of place.

"It's _useful_ stuff," Bucky added with a grin.

"Aren't you leaving soon for a mission?" Alice closed her pack, sliding it back around to sit against her back.

He shrugged. "Late afternoon, maybe tomorrow morning; depends on Steve."

Alice jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the truck. "Well, I've got some sleep to catch up on if you don't mind."

"Want company?" Bucky waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Alice threw a sock at him.

"Get out of here you maniac," Alice waved him off. " _Allez deranger quelqu'un d'autre."_

"Why would I bother someone else when I only want you?" Bucky asked. His tone was light but his face was serious, and it made Alice blush furiously. He smiled with victory - enjoying her reaction, obviously. " _Reve de moi,_ Alice _."_ He ducked as Alice threw another sock. _Dream of me,_ he'd said.

"Get!" Alice yelled, threatening with a third sock, and Bucky retreated, waving a handkerchief. She hauled herself up into the truck and nudged Gloria awake.

"Morning, Glo - ready to take over?" They were sleeping in shifts again since the ambush. Alice used it as an excuse to avoid her nightmares as well as get a few more French lessons out of Bucky. She enjoyed them when he wasn't being an incorrigible flirt.

"I don't wanna get up," Gloria whined. "It's cold." She sat up slowly, fluffing out her hair.

"I bet Monty would volunteer to warm you up in a heartbeat." Alice took off her medical pack and unbuttoned the heavy kevlar-shirt, folding it carefully and setting it next to her bedroll. She shivered as she tugged her loose cotton shirt over her under-shirt - the thick Kevlar had been much warmer, but it was impossible to sleep in.

Gloria sighed in ecstasy as she fell back against the bedroll. "It's _destiny_ , Alice. He's just so…" she sighed louder, pressing her hand to her chest. "When he looks at me I get all funny inside." She turned her head to look at Alice. "I think I'm in love, honey."

"Oh?" Alice asked, knowing that no matter her response, Gloria would just keep talking.

Gloria fanned herself. "Oh, and when he _talks,_ I just can't help myself; I say the most ridiculous things, just tripping all over my tongue and my teeth."

"Is that so?" Alice said as though this was new information.

"He always remembers how I like my coffee, and he brings me a snack in the afternoon…" Gloria swooned.

"Sounds like daycare but ok," Alice added.

"And - oh, Alice - he's just so wonderful! Everything he does is wonderful! I can't believe my luck that I cofounder someone so… so…" Gloria trailed off, lost for words.

"Wonderful?" Alice asked.

Gloria's voice chimed with delight. "Yes! You know what I mean?"

"Can't say that I do," Alice replies as she lay down, pulling the heavy blanket up to her chin. _That's not love,_ Alice thought, _that's just… limerence. An infatuation; puppy love._

Love was a calm, peaceful place where souls found a home together. Love was faith forged by evidence and welded in a blaze of confidence. Love was reaching in the dark, trusting that you would find a hand reaching back for you.

Alice sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and heart beating uncontrollably. She couldn't hear Gloria calling her name for the violent rushing sound of blood traveling at Mach-one running through her ears.

 _Oh, shit_.

There was no way – _no way, no_ – she couldn't, she _couldn't._

 _Can you love someone you've never kissed_? His face was her salvation in the darkness - a reminder that she was still alive, that she had a home at his side, that she could survive her nightmares.

He was the only place she felt safe - to breathe, to mourn, and to just enjoy being alive. It burned in her stomach to see him smile – not the black, toxic, complicit shame that lingered at the edges of her senses, but a deep, coursing furnace that held that poison at bay. Alice thought back through her memory for the right word. It wasn't puppy love – no more butterflies.

 _I love him,_ she realized. Horror flooded her stomach, hot and bright. _I can't… he's going to fall soon. He's going to fall and I'm going to lose him and it's going to break my heart._

It was too late. The bell of truth rang loudly over and over in her head, repeating her words with mocking resolution. It had solidified in her chest; a deep and unyielding need to see Bucky's face, touch it and be reassured that the awful January of 1945 had yet to pass even as the clock ticked ever-closer to breaking her heart.

 _I'm in love with Bucky,_ Alice thought. Her heart split in two, half joyfully ecstatic, half violently grieving.

"I'm in love with Bucky," Alice whispered it like a prayer; hoping it was a lie and finding it to be the barest of truths. She touched her lips, her fingers tingling from the increased blood pressure. She could nearly _taste_ the truth.

Then she remembered where she was. She remembered who was sitting only inches away and looked up into Gloria's eyes. Alice hoped her voice had been low enough that her friend hadn't heard.

" _I knew it!"_ Gloria declared, pointing an accusing finger. "I _knew_ it! I've got to tell Monty he owes me a dollar," Gloria rattled on and scrambled to pull her heavy Kevlar shirt on, evidently determined to blab Alice's newfound secret all over camp.

Alice lurched to her feet, pushing off her blanket and rushing to cover her friend's mouth. " _Shhhhhh!_ " she pleaded. "You can't tell Monty! You can't tell anyone!"

Gloria was smiling – beaming even, speaking fast and muffled under Alice's hand.

"Please, _please_ don't say anything!" Alice begged. "I don't – I can't – _please!_ "

Gloria lost some of the sparkle in her eyes, her brow knitting in confusion. She stopped speaking under Alice's hands and nodded, agreeing.

Alice sighed in relief, removing her hands from Gloria's mouth. "Thank you,"

"Aliiiiiiice…" Gloria's eyes were sparkling brightly only a moment later. _"Aliiiiiiice_ ," she said, buttoning up her shirt and slipping out of the truck bed.

"Don't you start again," Alice warned, moving to the edge of the truck and pointing a threatening finger. "I swear to God I will sew your mouth shut if I have to."

Gloria was poorly hiding her excitement. "Am I the first person who knows? Oh please, _please_ let me tell Monty."

"Absolutely not!" Alice refused. "I wouldn't ask the Commandos to keep secrets from each other."

"So I have to keep secrets? That's not fair!" Gloria stomped her foot like a badly-behaved child.

"I didn't _tell_ you anything - you just heard it by accident." Alice pulled leaned forward over her knees and pushed her sleeves up, trying to release a little of her pent-up heat. "Oh god… what am I going to do?"

"You could tell him," Gloria suggested, leaning over the tailgate of the truck to make eyes at Alice. "Or he could find a note with his breakfast, telling him everything…" she continued, her tone suggestive.

Alice glared. "Gloria Potter, I swear to god I will hide the coffee from you _forever_ if you so much as breathe a _word_."

"Well, there's no need for that…" Gloria sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Besides-" An angry whistle interrupted her as it sliced through the air, follows by a wet _thump_.

Gloria made a wet, gurgling sound. Her brow scrunched in confusion.

Her throat dripped red, spilling onto her shirt and becoming the source of a personal sanguinary waterfall.

Gloria sort of… crumpled. Sinking to the ground as she raised a hand to touch delicately at her throat and the wet, bleeding hole that had appeared.

Alice grabbed her folded Kevlar shirt - set aside so nicely - and scrambled over the tailgate of the truck. She threw it over Gloria's head – feeble protection, but better than nothing. Before she could move to check on her friend - _shot through the neck, Gods help me_ \- before she could even open her mouth to call for more help, more angry whistles called out a deadly song.

A heavy weight slammed into Alice's right side, forcing her down to the ground. Pain reached out with angry, barbed arms to drag her underneath waves of agony.

Alice choked on a wet cough, touching shaking fingers to her side. She found a hole in her soft shirt and a weird, squishy feeling below that. Her fingers came back wet, hot, and red. She coughed again and a hot, coppery taste filled her mouth.

 _Oh._

She tried to push herself up but the world tilted on its axis as Alice lost her balance, the ground smacking her in the face before she could protect it. She could barely roll onto her back but turned her head to see one of Gloria's eyes underneath her Kevlar shirt. They were open but dim. A wide pool of blood was spreading out from around Gloria's shoulders, meeting the pond that Alice was losing.

 _Blood with blood_ , Alice thought. _Let's keep this organized, now._

Alice had always kind of wondered if her healing factor would save her from death. She wondered about the experience of being remade after an atomic blast or waking up in a coffin. She had never worked up the courage to ask Logan about it, but at that particular moment, she wished she had taken the time.

* * *

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

There'd been the collection of men for breakfast, the idle chatter of men who hadn't yet enjoyed a cup of coffee, the speculation on taste and consistency of oats.

There'd been an awful ringing in the air, the hot cry of bullets striking steel, and a mortar exploding at the edge of the camp.

There'd been returned fire, cries of dismay and anger.

There'd been a violent fear combined with a gut feeling as his head turned slowly, or did it just seem slowly, towards the nurses' truck.

There'd been two bodies on the ground, one head of dark curls covered with a shirt like a funeral shroud, one flash of blonde curls, not moving, not protected, not moving, not sheltered.

And then time had sped up again; the world came crashing back in with all the sound and fury of a fresh Hell come to torture the Howling Commandos.

"Alice!" Bucky yelled, for once _wishing_ he was just imagining Alice's body laying in a pool of blood. _Breathe,_ her voice rang hollowly in his head, for the first time an unwelcome presence as he feared - he feared… Bucky's heart fell into his shoes as he slid next to Alice's still form, the women sharing an impossibly large pool of blood that he didn't bother trying to avoid.

" _Alice!"_ Bucky shook her roughly - harder than he should have - feeling a rush of relief as she opened her eyes by a fraction, followed by a wave of dread as she took her hand away from her wounded side.

"Hurts," she whispered.

Bucky stroked her face comfortingly, pushing hair away from her eyes. "You're okay, honey; everything's going to be fine - where's your pack?"

Her eyes weren't all there, and a heavy rock joined the growing pile in his stomach. "Bucky…" she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "It-" she coughed, more blood staining her lips. "It didn't work."

"What didn't work, sweetheart?" he asked softly. She pulled at a cord around her neck, tangled around her dog tags. Bucky helped her pull it free, though from the weight of it he knew what it would be before he saw it. The glittering round mocked him in the light, the crudely scratched channels of _Alice Shaw_ filled with blood.

Gunfire rattled past as the Howling Commandos best back the ambush. A roaring of trucks fading into the distance signaled a retreat, not a defeat.

He curled her hands aroundthe bullet, clenching tightly. "No, it _worked_. You're not gonna die, so the bullet today didn't have your name on it. Right?" he encouraged, trying to convince himself as well. "Now you've gotta tell me; where's your pack?" Alice pointed up into the truck and he leapt into action.

"Sweet Mary, mother of God…Alice?" Dugan and Jones had followed Bucky, the former checking on Gloria's still form while Jones appeared dumbstruck by the sight.

Bucky was rifling through the truck's medical supplies with fervor. "Why the hell are we always out of supplies?! Where's the damn sulfa powder?" Alice groaned feebly. Bucky would rather have ripped his own heart out of his chest than listen to her cry out. "You're gonna be alright," he repeated, as much for his comfort as hers. He gave up on the standard supplies and just seized Alice's little pack from beside her bedroll, vaulting over the tailgate with ease.

Bucky pressed a hand over Alice's as she tried to keep the pressure on her wound, not liking the way her blood felt running through his fingers. Alice tried to speak, but coughed blood. It dribbled down her chin in hot streams. "I know, honey; I've got you," Bucky tried to reassure her, pulling jars from her little pack, glancing at the labels to make sure he retrieved the correct ones. _Gauze, Iodine, Yarrow_.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Jones asked skeptically, shifting on his feet.

"I've watched her do it a couple'a times," Bucky murmured. He pressed the iodine-soaked cloth firmly against Alice's side and she cried out – the wet scream more of a spluttering cry. "I know, sweetheart, I know." Her screams cut at him deeply.

"She needs a _real_ doctor, Barnes," Dugan murmured at his shoulder. "She needs an airlift. Gloria's dead."

"No-" Alice coughed, "no plane. Lung… pressure drop-" she coughed harder, blood trickling out of her mouth.

"Well, we're more than a thousand miles from base and fresh out of Angels – you got any helpful ideas?" Bucky was furiously digging through Alice's bag, hoping against hope she had more than the scant leaves in each jar. No such luck.

Jones snapped his fingers. "If we can't bring Alice to the hospital, then we need to bring the hospital to Alice."

Dugan agreed vehemently. "We've gotta move her to the airfield - they can lift the first available doctor and meet her there; just like she did for McGregor."

"Go - call it in." Bucky hadn't spared either man a glance, giving Alice his full attention. "What do I do with these, doll?" Bucky held up the yarrow leaves, and Alice reached for them. "No, honey – just show me."

Alice bit her thumb. "I chew them?" he asked, instantly putting the leaf in his mouth and chewing vigorously. It tasted awful.

Alice nodded, and then placed her hand on top of Bucky's – on the wound on her side. "Then put them on – on the gunshot?" Alice nodded again.

Bucky hesitated, holding the leaves delicately over the dribbling wound. Alice captured his hands and pressed down swift and hard. She screamed – wet, slick, agonizing – but even as her body convulsed as though she had been electrocuted, her hands stayed firmly in place over the wound.

"Jesus, doll – how do you do this every day?" He was drenched in sweat and he wasn't even the one who had been shot. "Now what?" Bucky asked.

"Ever cleaned a fish?" Alice asked, a fine mist of blood following the words.

The idea made Bucky sick. "Oh no – I can't…"

"Bring me someone who will." She didn't question him or encourage him – she was approaching her own wound as clinically as she would on another soldier. "Need to know-" her chest rattled and punctuated her words as she tried to suck in air with one lung drowning in blood. "Need to know… if lung punctured… or bad graze."

"No – I … I can do it." Bucky swallowed heavily. He could. He would. For Alice. Alice nodded, smiling a little. "Do you have anything for pain?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

Alice nodded. "Black-" she heaved with coughs again. She turned her head and spat dark blood onto the earth.

"Grab it," Bucky offered her the open bag and Alice seized a jar labeled _Black Willow._ She pulled out a long strip of what looked like… "Is that tree bark?" Bucky asked with incredulity as Alice nodded, tucking it into her cheek. Bucky could only shake his head. "I don't know how you do this."

"Have to," Alice rasped, chest heaving for air. "My boys."

 _I don't trust anyone else to keep my boys alive._ She'd said that an age ago. They'd argued outside the pub. Bucky had begged her to stay behind.

Alice seemed marginally more coherent after chewing on the _tree bark_ , which Bucky couldn't begin to understand but was more than grateful. She helped him carefully peel the gauze and yarrow away from her side, holding it out of the way as Bucky went to work.

Alice hissed in pain as Bucky tried to be as gentle as humanly possible, and somehow – beyond Bucky's comprehension – she managed to hold relatively still as he probed her wound his his fingers. Bucky had held down enough men to know that Alice's stillness required a super-human power of will.

He found the edge of her lung as she breathed in; the soft, spongy material pressed back against his finger. The edge of his finger fell into a little cup of oozing raw flesh – the edge of the bullet wound. It had nicked her lung, but not penetrated it entirely. "I – I can cover the whole cut with just my one finger. Is that good?"

Alice could only nod, biting back a visible whimper as Bucky fished around her insides. His hands were shaking, and he was wearing a copious amount of the nurse's blood. He heard - and felt - her take a shuddering breath, and her lung fluttered against his fingers. It was the strangest sensation.

He pulled his hand out of her chest and she groaned weakly. "Do I sew you up now?" Bucky asked, hoping against hope she wouldn't pass out. He needed to know what to _do,_ damn it!

"Yarrow…" she hissed. "And pressure… no sewing… air needs... to escape." She sucked in rattling breaths between words, each sounding like an old asthmatic taking their last.

"Airlift is on the way, but they're saying at least four hours," Dugan reported as he returned, Steve in tow. Bucky nodded as he lifted Alice up a little to wrap her torso in as many rounds of bandages as possible. She hardly weighed anything, or was that just the adrenaline mixed with fear?

"Buck," Steve grabbed his shoulder. "We've gotta go."

"I'm not leaving," Bucky replied automatically as he stood, lowering the tailgate of the nurses' truck and lifting Alice up into the protective steel bed. He could see her fighting past tears as he moved her, the motion causing immense pain.

" _Bucky_ " Steve pressed. "We've got to push for the factory – they know our position now and they won't stop. If we stay, we're putting all of this at risk."

Alice reached for Bucky, her hand trembling, and he took it without question. There was fear in her eyes. He wished that he knew what to say to comfort her - he would have promised anything, given anything, sold his own soul.

Bucky let go of Alice's hand and nodded for Dugan to take his place. He did so, his voice low as he spoke only to Alice. She was nodding with whatever he was saying as Bucky drew Steve aside. "What about Alice, Steve? Are you just gonna let her die?"

"You've done everything you can; the rest is up to the airlift." Steve's face betrayed the pain of his decision. "I have to believe that this is the right choice."

"If this was Peggy-" Bucky started.

"But it isn't," Steve interjected.

"But if it _was,_ " Bucky pressed. "Would you be making the same call?"

Steve hesitated. "I don't know. I wish I could say yes, but I don't know."

Bucky ground his teeth in frustration. Why couldn't Steve have just lied and said _yes,_ it would have made it so much easier to punch him in the face. They both could agree it was an impossible choice, and not one that should have been forced on them so urgently.

Bucky broke away from Steve, patting Dugan on the shoulder to take his place next to Alice again. She lay on the steel truck bed in an all-too-familiar position, her hand reaching for him as he stepped closer, putting one knee on the tailgate so he could lean close.

He took her hand in both of his, running his thumb over her knuckles. "Sweetheart," Bucky leaned down, smoothing sweaty hair back from her face. "I've got to go and kill the bastards that hurt you, but I'll be back as soon as I can. You hang in there, you hear me?" Alice nodded, her expression oddly serene. Bucky kissed her knuckles, pressing his lips with desperation to her skin. "Don't you dare die, Alice."

" _Ne me quitte pas sans maison,"_ she murmured as he released her hand. _Don't leave me without a home._

" _Jamais,"_ he promised. _Never._

And then he walked away. Alice didn't call for him, and he didn't look back. He heard Steve giving orders to some Private to take Alice in the truck to the airstrip. Someone moved Gloria's body into the truck as well; it moved limply. He saw the flicker of gray as Grani trotted past him, headed for the truck as the engine turned over; he was familiar enough with the camp moving to know what to do. Bucky saw it all happen, like in a dream, cold and heavy inside.

Steve handed him his rifle.

Bucky accepted it and reflexively checked the chamber and cartridge, feeling the bolt move smoothly under his hands.

A little of Alice's blood flaked off of his hands and stuck to the stock.

He brushed it away.

* * *

Arnold took a deep swing of coffee as he walked across the museum floor, weaving his way through the dense crowd of visitors enjoying the warm respite of the exhibits over the brisk temperatures outside.

He passed a few disappointed faces as he approached the Captain America exhibit, having obviously spotted the temporary walls and _Exhibit temporarily closed; thank you for your patience while we update our displays_ sign mounted in front. He tapped his badge against the sensor and the door beeped, granting him access to the exhibit.

The construction crew was unloading all of the updated placards - Alice was not the only change being made; there had been a few typos found, and a few photos added here and there. Routine stuff.

Arnold watched appreciatively as the construction staff pulled the protective plastic from the large sign, revealing the text artfully composed beneath.

"Hey, where do you want this?" the crew asked, waving to get Arnold's attention.

Arnold turned and gestured vaguely to the far wall. "There, please. She needs to see Sergeant Barnes."

The foreman sighed. "Look, buddy - I don't know who all these folks are so you're gonna need to be more specific."

 _Of course not - if they don't have super powers, no ones interested in history these days._ "Above the case with the journal, to the right of the theatre," he clarified.

"Thanks."

Arnold took another swing of coffee as he watched the men hang the sign, and leave to retrieve the glass panel with Alice's photo on it. He'd had to call in all kinds of favors to get Alice here, in the best form that he could. He hoped he was doing her justice.

Even after he'd gotten approval to start producing materials, he'd had to tolerate some severe editing from the other curators. They didn't appreciate some of the content he'd wanted to add, as it took away from the mystique of the Howling Commandos, and grossly opposed the idea that they were these untouchable martyrs of history. He could only hope that he was doing her justice; closing a door that had been left open for far too long.

He smiled at the sign, feeling a warm glow rise in his chest.

 ** _The Angel of Azzano: History's Lost Howling Commando_**

* * *

A/N: Bye, Gloria… we loved you.

Please know I didn't do this lightly; Gloria's passing is crucial to the plot.

I'm sure the chapter took another pass for all of it to sink in. Alice realizes she's in love, and very abruptly things go further south than south goes. This chapter was originally split in two, with Alice's realization and gunshot on one, and Bucky's help on the other. I didn't think you'd appreciate that cliffhanger, but maybe this one is more tolerable?

This is the longest chapter of WIAS - and rightly so - at 5,071 words! Woohoo!

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	32. Valkyrie

"So what's the date?" Alice asked, peeling an apple over the sink. "You keep mentioning this dreaded 'assassination date' but you haven't told me what it is yet. Kinda important, yeah?" She hazarded a smug look at Cable, who was at that moment flipping through the large pile of objects Alice intended to bring with her to 1943.

He took out a pen, evidently deeming it incorrect of inappropriate, tossing it in his growing 'oh hell no you're not bringing this' pile on the other end of the apartment. "Halloween, 1944. A mercenary for hire will shoot Captain America and take his shield."

Alice frowned, pausing in her peeling. "Just the shield? He's killing Captain America for his _shield_?" It was such an incredulous idea, she could hardly fathom it at all.

"He's…" Cable groaned in frustration, clenching his fist, breaking something he probably hadn't meant to. "The Merc. Isn't exactly… stable. He seems to have decided that if he can't have Cap's shield in the present, why not get it straight from the source?"

Alice tapped her nails against the countertop. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to stop a trained mercenary."

"You use these," Cable set out a neat line of silver-gray bullets on Alice's table, all arranged like obedient soldiers. "He'll know they're from me."

"From… as in 'hey mister mercenary, these are a special message for you'?"

"Exactly like that," Cable confirmed.

Alice snorted in derision. "That's stupid."

He shrugged. "That's Deadpool."

"His name is 'dead pool'?" Alice's eyebrows shot up. "Edgelord, wow."

Cable made a rude gesture that Alice wasn't certain was for her, but maybe for the aforementioned Edgelord not in attendance. "Just make sure you hit him before he sees you; that's the most important part. Otherwise, you'll just be another body in the way of what he wants."

"But once I see him… what the hell do I say? I didn't exactly take Debate Club at Xavier's school."

"Just say this-" Cable instructed. He spoke slowly so that Alice could memorize the exact tonality. Alice listened intently, but couldn't keep a straight face for long. She burst out laughing and had to dodge her way across the apartment and out the door as Cable threw a handful of pens at her.

* * *

Alice couldn't say when she passed out – not long after Bucky left? When the truck first started to bounce as the Private accelerated past five miles per hour? She couldn't say. She did know that when she woke up, it was dark outside. She knew that because, for a brief moment of panic, she had worried that she'd gone blind.

"Hello?" she gasped as she tried to roll onto her side. She bit her lip – _hard_ – to keep from crying out as a stab of agony pierced her side, reminding her of why she was laying in the bed of the truck in the first place.

 _Oh yeah,_ she thought, _I got shot._

"You awake, ma'am?" a young Private appeared with a flashlight, his face concerned. The light hurt her eyes and she covered them briefly.

"Not dead yet," she replied. "Where am I?"

"Airstrip, ma'am," he said lightly.

"What the fuck are we doing at the airstrip?" she snarled.

"Erm… waiting on a doctor for you, ma'am."

"How long have we been waiting?"

The Private shrugged. "Couldn't say. The planes keep getting shot at when they try to land, so they keep veering off and circling back around. More'n twelve hours, I'd say."

Alice coughed, the motion seriously upsetting her side, and spat a thick globule of half-congealed blood onto the ground. Her side burned like it was on fire while someone repeatedly stabbed her with both sharp and dull spoons. "How long have I been out?" she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Just the twelve hours – what day is it?"

The private thought about it. "Well – I guess it's the thirty-first, now." The radio crackled loudly and they both jumped. Alice knew what it was going to say before the Private opened his mouth to say "Oh, hell…" She knew it because she knew what day it was.

 **October 31, 1944**

"What is it?" she asked, even though she already knew.

He tried to shoot her a confident smile though it didn't fare well with the concern scrawled on his face. "Nothing for you to worry about, ma'am."

"Where are they pinned down?" Alice asked, using all of the strength in her arms to push her torso up. She swung her legs around so she could sit up properly. "They're radioing for backup, right? They're calling you hoping that the airlift arrived and you could assist? Just nod, son, I know I'm right."

He nodded. Alice nodded. "Good. Now tell me; where are they pinned down?"

"South of Jelgava, Miss Shaw."

"And we are?" Alice asked, patting around where she was sitting until she found her med pack. She slipped it around her waist, which she found interestingly enough helped a little with the pain.

"A little East of Bauska." Alice gave him a pointed look and he quickly provided "we're thirty-three miles Southeast of them with all them winding roads, ma'am."

"Alright," Alice sighed. She coughed again, spat again. She felt a little better each moment – or was it just the adrenaline starting to course through her veins? "Give me your rifle; you can keep your sidearm, but I need the rifle."

" _Ma'am?"_ the Private asked with a squeak, clutching his rifle closer.

"Honey," Alice started, though her tone was far from sweet. "You can either give it to me, or I can order you to give it to me, or I can take it from you. It's your choice."

"You – you can't! You got _shot!_ " his eyes couldn't seem to figure out where to look at Alice; at her face, finding blinding determination in her eyes, or at her waist where heavy bandages were wrapped under a torn shirt, or at her hand, outstretched for his weapon.

"Your choice," she repeated. "But I won't ask a third time."

She moved to slide down from her seated position on the tailgate, but as her feet hit the ground she cried out in pain, her feet crumbling from under her. The Private rushed to assist her, grabbing her under her armpit and trying to help her stand again. Alice wrapped her arm over his shoulder, mumbling her thanks.

"See, ma'am? You're in no condition to-" he didn't get to finish that thought, though. Alice had his rifle unslung from his shoulder before he could think, and she cracked him across the face with the butt of the stock. He crumpled to the ground without a sound.

Alice croaked out a whine of pain, clutching her side. _Well, that was a bad idea_. She felt a bloom of heat in her side as whatever clotting had started to pull the wound together ripped open.

"Sorry, honey," she apologized to the unconscious Private as she stepped around him. She did her best to roll him under the Jeep where at least he wouldn't be seen. "You'll wake up in a few with a nasty headache, but I couldn't let you keep me any longer."

Standing for a second time was worse – she hadn't been acting when her legs failed her. Truth be told, she shouldn't have even been vertical. She would struggle to explain what had kept her moving. _My mission_ , would be the only explanation that seemed to make sense. Alternately, it was a combination of spite, pride, fear, and… something else. Not a sense of duty, but… fate? She hesitated to even think the word; it seemed ridiculous.

But there she was; standing in the field holding a stolen rifle and struggling to keep her balance as she oriented herself in the dark. She spat, and this time the liquid seemed a little lighter. She took a shaky breath, satisfied that she could get to about half of her lung capacity before she wanted to throw up from the pain.

 _It'll have to do_ , she decided. She tucked her lip and whistled. Grani's head lifted from some underbrush, his ears pointed in her direction with interest. He trotted towards her, tossing his head with excitement and dancing along his hooves a little.

"Aww… _fuck me_ you don't have your saddle," Alice groaned as he trotted closer and she grabbed the simple leader wrapped around his muzzle and neck. "Why me?" she asked, shaking his rope leader. "Seriously, _why me_?" Grani didn't have the answer, being a horse, so Alice just swore at God. "C'mon, stupid; you're gonna have to help."

Alice led Grani over beside the truck and awkwardly roll-sat onto the tailgate. She took the time to leave the rifle's original copper and brass rounds rolling around the bed, replacing them with Cable's silver-gray steel rounds from her pack. She wasn't sure if she'd have the spare hand to load once she got into motion, she reasoned.

"Alright," she took a few short breaths to work up the courage, "C'mere, Grani."

The horse trotted past the tailgate and Alice used it as a sort of bouncy step to mount the horse. She cried out as she fell hard into her seat, wrapping her arms around Grani's neck to keep from falling off. She had worked hard to get up there and she didn't intend on doing it a second time.

The horse nervously danced in place, unaccustomed to being held in that way. Alice let go to allow him time to calm down while she worked on sitting upright. The muscles a bullet had so cleanly ripped through were not appreciative of the action.

 _This is going to suck_ , Alice thought to herself. She snapped at Grani's lead, and he bucked into a canter. His hooves cracked like thunder in the underbrush. Alice's side burned like she was being roasted alive, the heat and pain increasing as she and Grani fell into a familiar paired stride of horse and rider. Still, she tossed the reins into a gallop.

Grani's chest chugged and drove like a freight train as he charged, full-speed, through the forest. Alice knew he could handle it – they had trained for this day for months. She hadn't expected to need to catch up to the Howling Commandos thirty miles away, but _they had to make it._

They'd made all the preparations possible, conditioning as a pair to go hard on rough terrain, with endurance to make the damn Pony Express green with envy. _Twenty miles if we go straight through_ , she thought as Grani leapt like a champion over a fallen log. _Twenty miles of agony_ , she thought as they tore through the tree line, crossed a road without actually touching the ground, and vanished into the forest again.

* * *

The low-crawl to an optimal sniper's position had never been Bucky's favorite part of Boot Camp. Dragging his face along in the mud to avoid detection was unpleasant at best as little bugs worked their way up your nose and mud got shoved all in your shorts.

It was a little different in the field, he realized. It was a little different when the speed of your motion needed to match the natural bending of underbrush caused by the breeze and occasional explosion of mortars to avoid being shot. It was a little different when you were trying to focus on the task at hand and a memory of a voice calling out in feeble French kept interrupting.

He shook his head as if that could clear the thought – he had to focus - and reached higher on the hill for a better handhold in the scraggly roots of a large tree. He had to get a little higher on the hill before he had the best chance of taking out whatever hellish marksman had kept them pinned down all afternoon. Bucky had never known a rifle that could shoot so damn far, or so accurately. They had barely gotten out of the remains of their camp – _Alice's blood on the ground, pooling around her, a hand reaching for him_. Bucky shook his head furiously.

The ground trembled under his fingers and he froze. Tanks? Mortars? He pressed his torso to the ground in case either was true, but the rumbling grew louder, beating through the ground and shaking his chest. It wasn't like the usual mortars, though, it was more like… living thunder.

Bucky threw himself under the shelter of a fallen tree as a huge silver beast mounted the hill above him and vaulted into the open air. It slammed into the ground exactly where his head had been and a thunder of hooves drove past him, half sliding and half charging down the hill. A flash of white-blonde hair from the horse's rider whipped through the air like a streak of lightning.

The breath caught in Bucky's throat as he recognized the rider; _Alice_.

His brain struggled to catch up. _How?_

She was fast vanishing from view and Bucky scrambled to his feet, completely disregarding his slow sniper crawl in favor of getting to the top of the hill as fast as humanly possible. He ripped off a nail or two getting purchase on the cold ground but found a better vantage point on a huge slab of rock. He threw down his rifle's bipod and pressed his eye against the scope, looking for Alice and Grani.

They weren't hard to find. They were the only torrent of movement and color in a hellish landscape of gray and brown, and everything about them looked drawn from something... mythological.

Alice's face was distorted as her cheek pressed against the rifle stock, and her hair was swinging freely like a battle standard as she flew. Her shirt, untucked and torn in places, fluttered and billowed around her waist, revealing the occasional flash of stained bandages wrapped tight around her torso. She held onto the horse with nothing more than the tight grip of her thighs.

Grani's hooves hardly seemed to touch the ground for the crashing thunder and spitting earth they produced. His head rocked and reached as he galloped, hardly noticing the mortar-holes and debris he navigated.

She was a charging Valkyrie, holding a Garand rock-steady to her shoulder as the horse lurched and rolled like a wave beneath her in a full gallop, the report of the rifle barking in time with Grani's charge as she timed her shots to ring out at precise intervals of the churning stride, pulling the bolt to reload as the undulation gave her momentum.

She shouldered the rifle as she charged towards the marksman's nest – a tall building at the edge of town with a mostly boarded-up window. It was too far for Bucky to get a good aim from the ground, but now that he was higher up, he stood a chance of laying down cover fire. "Don't go in there, stupid," Bucky swore under his breath, pulling back the bolt to load a round into the chamber.

Alice couldn't hear him – obviously – and dismounted Grani in a motion so smooth he couldn't believe she'd been shot only the day before. She slapped Grani's side and he continued moving, running around the corner and out of sight. Alice glanced around for one second – one painfully long second to Bucky – and he swore under his breath.

"Don't you dare, Alice…" he murmured. He considered shooting at her feet – something to startle her into running from danger for once. She looked up at the hill and his heart fluttered – did she know he was there – before vanishing into the Lion's Den.

" _Goddamn it_!" Bucky stood, grabbing his rifle. He paused, clenching the wood stock so tightly it groaned in protest. He bobbed in place, fighting the urge to run down the hill to yank her out of that building himself and the contrasting urge to stay where he was better able to provide cover fire, or take out the marksman before Alice finished climbing the stairs.

Bucky threw the bipod down again and hit the ground so hard it made his elbows sing in protest. His stomach flipped and he felt like throwing up, but he set his sights down the rifle once more, stared at the boarded-up window, and waited for a shot.

* * *

Alice was breathing heavily as she ascended the stairs one creaky step at a time. She was certain she'd hit him at _least_ once. Cable's bullets had no trouble going through the thick stone building, so even with her spray-and-pray method of just shooting at the entire room, she was certain she'd at least hit him once.

She had to pause more than once, leaning against the stone to catch her breath. She coughed, spitting blood onto the stairs. _That'll be slippery coming down_ , was all she could think.

"Well hello there!" a voice called above her. "I didn't order any Girl Scout cookies; I heard they aren't actually made of girl scouts anymore."

Alice stuck her head over the banister, looking up the last few levels to find a masked face looking down at her. It was red with a funny black diamond shape around white eyes. It was almost… cartoonish. But also frightening in its vivid contrast.

Without responding, Alice pulled her rifle and shot straight up, trusting the super-round to go through the mercenary's foot even with having to penetrate a few layers of wood on the way.

" _Son of a BITCH_!" the voice yelled. Alice grinned to herself, the taste of copper in her mouth seeming worth it at the moment. She wheezed a laugh, not fighting the cough that followed.

"You don't sound so good, Annie Oakley – how about some _Riiiiiiiiicolaaaaaa_ …" Alice heard a metal-on-metal slide, and realized a second on the late side that the mercenary had decided to jump down from his level to hers, using what looked an awful lot like a katana to slow his descent.

Alice loaded her rifle a bit on the slow side, but managed to get one more shot in – hitting Deadpool through the shoulder – as he landed at her level. He paused, sheathing his katana.

The red-clad mercenary poked at the bullet wounds in his chest, making a _squoosh_ ing noise that made Alice's stomach painfully upset. "I know these bullets – Cable! Have you had work done?" Alice sighed deeply in relief, regretted it as she coughed and spat blood on the stairs. She couldn't tell if it splashed on the mercenary as he approached, his head tilted at a very puppy-like angle.

Alice let herself sink to sit on the stairs, holding a hand to her side and trying to ignore the tickle at the back of her throat. "I'm afraid Cable couldn't make it, but he sent me with a message. If you would kindly _fuck off_ to the correct century he would be willing to renegotiate the terms of your 'divorce'."

Deadpool gasped, holding his gloved hands to his face in excitement. Alice wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started to dance with glee. "If you don't mind me asking," Alice interrupted his glee. "Why go through all this just to win an argument?"

Deadpool crouched in front of her, examining her face through his mask. "Why do some people insist on winning at Mario kart when the best part is making sure other people lose?"

Alice made a series of funny faces. "I don't think that follows."

Alice got booped on the nose by a smelly glove. " _Exactly_ , G.I. Jane. Now," he pulled a grenade out of his pocket. "I'd suggest you find a different cabana to banana in, because this one's coming with me."

"It took me eighteen months to get here and it's over in twenty seconds," Alice leaned over on her knees, working her way to a standing position. "Could you maybe give me a twenty-second head start?" she asked.

"That's what she said." The merc tilted his head, considering. "Ten," he decided. He turned his wrist, playing with a device that looked suspiciously identical to Cable's time-travel doodad.

"You're all assholes," Alice grumbled, working up the momentum to stand.

"Nine," Deadpool warned, evidently counting the seconds on a Hello Kitty watch.

"Yeah, fuck you I'm going," Alice flipped him the bird as she swung her stolen rifle over her shoulder once more.

"Seven and a half!" he sang after her as she worked up speed going downstairs.

* * *

For all Bucky could tell, the marksman had abandoned his window position. He wondered if Alice had shot the marksman – he'd never seen her fire a rifle before a few minutes ago, he realized. Maybe she'd… poisoned him from a distance or something. That was more her style.

He was watching carefully for muzzle flashes and wasn't expecting the middle of the building to blow out entirely. His head jerked up from the scope, confirming the bright flash that had nearly blinded him in one eye. Fear put his other eye in the scope, checking around the exits of the building, hoping – _Jesus Christ you are one lucky woman,_ he thought as he spotted Alice bursting from a far door followed by a heavy cloud of ash.

Steve seemed to realize that the building exploding was a decent time as any to come out from cover, finding Alice as she turned a corner. Bucky watched through the scope as they gave each other a once-over, Steve gesturing to her side with a question he couldn't hear.

Alice appeared to wave it off, tucking her lip to whistle for her stupid horse. Steve gave her a boost up to Grani's back, making some comment that made her smile. Alice's chest heaved and it looked damn painful as she fought back a grimace. Steve asked another question and Alice shook her head, nodding back out of the village.

Bucky's heart stuttered as Alice's eyes followed a gesture from Steve in his direction. He could see the sheen of sweat on her face, her short panting breaths in the frigid air, and the concern burning in her eyes. Something white and fluffy obscured his vision through the scope and Bucky glanced up.

It had started to snow. Bucky breathed deeply. _So that's what snow smells like._ He looked back down the scope and Alice was gone, and Steve was signaling Bucky to come down from the hill. Bucky nearly left his bipod on the ground in his rush to get moving.

He followed Grani's wake of destruction down the hill, as he'd done a spectacular job in clearing the thorny underbrush in his wild charge. The ground may have been frozen in Winter's grasp, but it didn't mean that with a little stomping it had stayed completely solid. There were slippery spots that hadn't existed on his ascent and he nearly lost his balance, cursing about the horse the entire way down. His knees had started to wobble a little by the time he reached the bottom.

"You with me?" Steve asked, resting a hand in his shoulder as Bucky caught his breath.

"Yeah," Bucky confirmed. "We should clear the town and then head back to camp for resupply before we hit the factory."

"Agreed." Steve nodded sharply. "I thought you'd be happier to see Alice," he commented as they walked through town, checking buildings for Hydra soldiers.

Steve kicked the door down of a boarded-up building and Bucky swept the front room, lowering his rifle once they cleared the building he turned stony-faced to Steve. "I'm plenty happy. Gosh golly gee whiz." He _should_ have been happy. He should have been over the goddamn moon to see Alice still drawing breath; instead he felt… angry.

"Bucky," Steve sighed.

Bucky snapped. "She was _dying,_ Steve - you saw it - and suddenly now she's just charging along and shooting down snipers?" It didn't make any damn sense. Even accounting for how stubborn Alice could be, he'd seen wounds half as bad knock men on their backs for months. By any reasonable measure there was no way Alice could have been standing, let alone riding into combat on horseback.

Steve seemed amused by it, and it annoyed the hell out of Bucky as he shrugged it off. "She's one of us, what do you expect?"

Bucky stopped him in the street. "She's _not_ one of us - she's a _nurse_. Nurses aren't supposed to…to be shooting…" Realization dawned over him. "She can't be shooting at people, Steve." The simple concept of his anger faded swiftly into fear, and he turned wide, horrified eyes on Steve.

"Who are we talking about?" Dugan asked, kicking a charred board out of the street and joining the conversation.

Morita tossed him a spare clip. "Alice was here; shooting down a marksman. It was awesome," he laughed.

"What - here as in _here?"_ Dugan's eyebrows disappeared under his hat. "I thought she was waiting for an airlift?"

"That's what we thought, too," Jones added. "Guess the Angel's got an Angel looking after her."

Dum Dum tried to shrug it off. _"_ So what's the big deal? It's Alice; she does crazy stuff all the time."

"There's crazy and there's breaking the law," Bucky barked. "Alice just crossed the line."

Steve seemed to process Bucky's fear and the ramifications of Alice's actions at the same time. His posture slackened with defeat. "She's violating the Geneva Convention," Steve clarified. "Medics wearing the Red Cross can only fire in self-defense. This makes Alice a war criminal."

"No," Dugan insisted vehemently. "We needed backup and, like always, Alice provides. She's one of us- doesn't matter if she's a nurse."

Bucky leaned close, a wry, ironic grin plastered on his face. "It doesn't _work_ like that. She doesn't get shot at because she's only supposed to fire when she's _being_ shot at. She can't shoot first. It's a _war crime_ , Dum Dum."

Somehow, with all the usual strangeness that surrounded Alice, they had forgotten. They had forgotten that she was only supposed to be a nurse, and that were strict rules that followed that position, regardless of if she helped the US Army or the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Alice couldn't shoot first. If Alice shot first she was abusing her rights as a nurse - she had the protection of the Geneva Convention to walk over any line unharmed as a healer.

"Or maybe she wasn't here," Steve suggested quietly.

The sentence hung like a knife in the empty air. "What?" Dugan asked.

Steve looked thoughtful as he slung his shield at his back. "Alice transfers back to a Field Hospital – say, the 130th; where her friends are stationed. Nobody needs to know she was here today; a final thanks for her service."

Dugan was repulsed. "What kind of message is that? 'Hey- thanks for saving our lives a couple hundred times but get back in the kitchen'?" Dum Dum looked at Bucky with incredulity. "You're really going to let this happen?"

As calm as his tone seemed, Bucky could read the tension in Steve's face. "Do you want to visit her in Leavenworth? This is the only option." He was every inch the Captain; making the tough decision no one wanted to imagine.

As much as they wanted to argue, or disagree, or fight Alice's case, Steve was right. The nurses had been mostly left alone by Hydra until Gloria, and they had no way of knowing that her death was intentional. Had that been the last straw for their resident wild-woman? They'd seen what happened when Alice felt she needed to protect her own; she'd make poison and spit fire if need be. She wouldn't hesitate to do it again if she felt it was necessary; she'd break every law and statute and agreement to keep them alive, maybe even make a deal with devil himself.

"Alice isn't a soldier; she's a nurse," Bucky reminded Dum Dum. "So it's our job to keep her safe." Dum Dum looked at the group, trying to find support and finding resolute defeat instead. Bucky held his furious stare – accusatory, angry – with surprising strength.

Bucky knew Alice better than any other Commando. Alice was _his_ girl, and he couldn't let her be so reckless with her life. She'd forgive him eventually… he hoped. Even if she didn't it was better that she hate him and be alive than… than the alternative.

"So," Dugan hissed. "How are you going to tell Alice?"

* * *

A/N: The alternate title for this Chapter: "Alice Shaw is a BAMF" jk not really but yanno…Also – do yourself a favor, and re-read the chapter but with Hozier's "In the Woods Somewhere" as your background music.

Deadpool's obsession with Steve's shield and his and Cable's "divorce" (also read as: end of friendship) are both COMIC CANON so don't come at me with any weirdly hating comments, plz and thank.

Alice's mission is complete! Yay? And how about that weirdly short bit of action? Eighteen months of waiting and preparing for a thirty-second conversation. Also – Alice done fucked up bad by shooting first.

Jfc these chapters are getting long. Someone put me out of my misery. This chapter is officially the longest of the story at 5,100 words.

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 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	33. Carousel

Alice took a deep breath as she finished her makeup in the perfect bathroom mirror. She was operating on little sleep and even less caffeine, but she felt strangely alert. Cable's presence in her life these last two weeks had been a complete upheaval of her understanding of – and involvement in – the world around her.

A war-era stranger – odd to see in color, not black and white – stared back from the mirror. Her deep brown eyes were wide with apprehension, and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, smearing the red lipstick a little. Alice rubbed the lipstick from her teeth and took a deep breath. _Here we go._

Alice spun a little as she exited the bathroom, presenting herself for Cable's inspection. He nodded, satisfied, and clapped her firmly on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, kid."

Her chest constricted and made her eyes water. "Stop it; we both know you don't have real human feelings."

Cable lifted the rucksack from the floor, pressing it into her arms. "Good luck, Alice Shaw."

Alice shouldered the bag and shrugged a few times, checking the straps apprehensively. "I think I'm ready."

Cable held out his arm. "Hold on tight." Alice grasped the arm just below the elbow, her hand not even reaching halfway around it.

Alice fidgeted with her belt with shaking, fumbling hands. "This doesn't feel real," she commented as she managed to accidentally unfasten it. She quickly slipped the tooth back in place and left well enough alone.

"That'll change," Cable added as he set down a silver box in the middle of the room.

Alice stared down at it. "Is that the… the time travel thing?"

Cable tapped his wrist. "This is for travel. That's a beacon."

As an afterthought, Alice shoved an apple in her bag for a quick snack on the ship. Never hurt to be prepared. "A beacon for what?"

Cable humored her – he'd be rid of her soon enough, the least he could do was answer a few more questions while he adjusted the device. "I'm dropping you in 1943 as I skip over, then I'll slow down and turn around, picking up on your signal-" he pointed at the button on her lapel "- and aiming for the beacon here to bring us both to a stop at the right time."

"Oh," Alice nodded. "That seems complicated. So…" her brow furrowed. "So you'll only experience the whole thing as what; five minutes?"

Cable nodded. "About that, yeah."

"But I'm going to age a year and a half," Alice emphasized.

Cable nodded, a ghost of a grin dancing across his face. "About that, yeah."

Alice's head hurt. "Doesn't that mess with time? Like - the space-time continuum?"

"Why would it?" Cable asked dismissively.

"I don't know!" Alice threw up her hands in frustration. "I'm just trying to make sure I don't _break_ time!"

"I told you to hold tight," Cable grabbed Alice's hand and put it back on his arm. "Let go at the wrong time and you'll miss the whole thing." Alice looked defeated, so he added more gently: "Time doesn't work like that - it's not a fixed Mark with no opportunity for deviation. It's flexible, while still maintaining a predictable path."

Alice bobbed her head, but then said: "I have no idea what that means."

"Don't you watch television?" Cable asked though he knew from her sparse apartment that she didn't own a TV.

"When I was at Xavier's, yeah," Alice tapped the closed lapel button. "Beam me up, Scotty."

"That's not a toy," Cable chided. "Don't worry about messing up time. Everything's happening just like it should." Before Alice could ask what he meant, Cable slammed a hand down on his time-watch and the world burst into violent, spinning color.

* * *

Alice and Grani moved at a slow combined pace back through the forest. Grani was exhausted from the sustained charge, and Alice was on the verge of throwing up. Her body rocked from side to side like a half-drunk alcoholic looking for a surface to sleep on – any surface at all.

She wanted to celebrate her success. She also wanted to lie down. The desire to lie down – maybe drink about seventeen gallons of water first – was stronger than the desire to celebrate. Alice leaned forward slightly, holding Grani around the neck, and tried to let her back relax.

Her mind drifted as snowflakes started to rest on her arms, accumulating in the little valleys of her wrinkled sleeves. Her eyelashes beat against her cheeks, lashes wetting and chilling as snowflakes melted there. She was cold, but not too cold. It was just the right amount of suffering. She closed her eyes and let Grani take them home; he knew the way.

She had to sit up again far too soon as the approached camp; Alice could hear men's voices, the occasional rumble of an engine, and a slightly adapted version of normal camp sounds. The few Howling Commandos who had remained to protect the supplies were in the process of packing up what remained of camp - scorched and broken as it all was.

Alice sank against Grani as she dismounted, the adrenaline wearing off had left her weary and fully conscious of the wound in her side. She shivered slightly as well, though that hurt badly as her skin pulled against newly-formed scabs.

" _Miss Shaw!"_ The stern voice carried quite well across the charred camp. Alice only turned her head towards the noise, not trusting her torso with any more motion.

A very familiar private - now with a vivid black eye - lead a new face through the remains of the Howling Commandos base camp.

Alice waved a hand like she was beckoning an old friend as her pain level had her suspended in a nearly hallucinogenic state; nothing seemed real aside from the hot, sticky mess at her side. It didn't appreciate that she had a hand pressed against it for pressure, but it also complained vehemently any time she let go.

The private pointed at her,and waved the doctor on. He was clearly in no rush for another interaction with the odd woman.

The doctor stalked across the camp towards her, holding a medical bag with one hand and keeping his helmet firmly planted on his head with the other. He looked concerned about the scorched earth around him, studiously avoiding any ground that was less than pristine.

"I assume you're my patient?" the doctor asked, gesturing to her bloody torso with a lazy wave. "Do you have somewhere more… private?"

Alice looked around briefly, but realized that for the most part the tents had all been taken down. "I think they're getting ready to move. We could use the mess, I guess?"

Alice used Grani for support as they crossed the scorched earth, asking politely to use the mess as a very temporary medical tent yielded no resistance, and the cook even volunteered to stand watch outside while Alice disrobed from the waist up.

Alice held her shirt like a kind of security blanket against her breast as she leaned to and fro as the doctor examined her wound. "I'm surprised you're standing; from what I heard it sounded far more urgent."

"I was shot when the camp was attacked," Alice offered. "Hurt like a bitch."

She hissed in pain as he washed out the wound thoroughly, probing it with his sterilized tools and tutting to himself. "They _told_ me you were on death's doorstep." He seemed irritated. "This is nothing you need an airlifted doctor for - you should have known better."

"Excuse me?" Alice bristled, offended at his tone.

"No wonder you're up and about – this is just a graze. It made a fair deep cut in your side, but it didn't go nearly deep enough to hit anything." He rinsed his hands and retrieved a needle and suture thread from his bag. "I'm happy to stitch it up for you, but this whole trip was needlessly dangerous, sweetheart."

"It's _Lieutenant_ , if you don't mind," Alice snapped. "And I wasn't the one that called for the airlift. I fully support whatever my unit deemed necessary."

"Of course you do, swee-… _Lieutenant_." He corrected himself as Alice's glare turned dangerous. "Now please, just lay on your side and I'll get this closed up."

Alice lay down on the hard table – not a real surgical table, just a wood slab meant for eating on. She held the shirt higher against her breast to give the doctor the best view, but also to conceal her confused frown.

That sure as shit hadn't _felt_ like a graze. Alice had felt her lung filling with blood, and Bucky had needed to press his hand against her lung to ensure it wasn't punctured. Surely the doctor was wrong. Surely he was just looking at the clotted inside of the wound and thinking it was flesh?

She was certain it couldn't be her mutation – it had never been very strong, only good for papercuts and very faint bruises. _Then again_ , Alice mused, _I didn't exactly lead a stressful life before now._ She hadn't been nearly powerful enough to do anything interesting when she lived at Xavier's School, so she had never considered the possibility that it might develop into something stronger. Alice hissed in discomfort as the doctor started to sew her side together without warning, cutting off the train of thought.

Alice's hand curled around the button on her lapel pin, fingers brushing against Cable's beam-me-up beacon. It was time. She was done. _Mission Complete,_ she thought. Steve had survived. Deadpool had _fucked off_ to the correct century.

An hour or so from now she would have to find a quiet clearing to make a subtle exit, waiting for the rush of color and motion that would zip her off her feet and back to the 21st Century. Bucky's eyes flashed before her own and her heart surged to beat against the inside of her chest.

 _He'd be so worried if I just vanished,_ she thought. _All of the Commandos would worry – okay, maybe not Steve, but he doesn't like me very much._ Their faces danced in front of her; joyful, concerned, _alive._ They were her friends and she would miss them when she had to leave.

One face in particular kept looping back around, beautiful blue eyes that searched her face for answers to her hidden secrets and calloused hands reaching for her. Reaching in the dark, she could find him if all of her other senses were cut away and she had to operate on touch alone. She was so hopelessly dependent on his presence to find balance; it would be like losing a limb to leave him behind.

 _There's also the fact that I'm in love with him_.

Alice unpacked the thought carefully and reverently. She let it unfurl in her head, releasing long branches as it bloomed. She'd said it out loud – only once – and hadn't been able to process it since.

 _I'm in love_.

She knew it was wrong. Alice knew that she should have separated herself from the 107th as soon as she finished treating their immediate illnesses; thrown a couple of Band-Aids on boo-boos and turned the other cheek. There was no reason for her to focus all of her energy on keeping those men in such pristine condition. Sure, a couple may have lost a foot or an eye to infection, but what did that matter in the grand scheme of things?

Alice should have left history to history. She should have stayed away from Bucky and Dum Dum, and from Azzano, and from the Howling Commandos. _But where would I be without them?_ She couldn't help but wonder – and the wondering hurt. She loved them all, deeper and more profoundly than any human contact she'd known.

She didn't want to leave.

She didn't _want_ to go back to the 21st Century. The future could keep its pop-tarts and cell phones and tempur-pedic beds. Alice wanted boiled coffee and wool coats and the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air.

 _That's it,_ she decided. _I'm staying._

Alice was going to keep the Howling Commandos.

 _To hell with the future._ Alice's stomach leapt with the thrill of it.

 _To hell with the universe._ Her pulse fluttered.

 _To hell with Cable._ She clenched her hand around the lapel button.

 _I'm staying right here._ She wanted to stay with her friends.

She wanted to stay with Bucky – she would figure out some way to be by his side, even if he didn't want her like she wanted him. She would be happy just to keep him safe. _I can keep him from falling from the train. I can keep him from suffering._

She was staying.

"Sit up, please," the doctor tapped her shoulder. He took her hand to ease her up into a sitting position as he moved to tape gauze over her stitches. "Keep this clean and dry," he instructed.

"I know that," Alice snapped.

He shrugged. "Just a reminder. You can get dressed now."

Alice carefully pulled her ruined shirt back on, grimacing as the stitched pulled uncomfortably along her side. _That'll suck for the next ten days,_ she thought. Alice buttoned up the front of her shirt and smoothed down the collar, pausing as her fingers brushed against the little beam-me-up lapel button.

 _I guess I don't need this_ , she thought with a wry smile. Alice pulled the pin from her shirt, letting it tumble out of her fingers and into the dirt. It would be mushed into the mud sometime soon when the mess tent was disassembled, and Alice wouldn't think about it again.

" _Lieutenant Shaw!_ "The furious call boomed across the camp, startling Alice out of her thoughts.

"I assume that's you," the doctor commented, giving her a knowing look as he began to pack up.

"Alice _I-don't-know-your-middle-name_ Shaw!" the call repeated.

"Yeah, that's me," Alice admitted.

"I don't recommend you keep that boy waiting," the doctor suggested as he snapped his bag shut.

"Oh, what the hell do you know," Alice snapped back.

He ignored her. "Good luck, Miss Shaw. You avoid those bullets now, you hear?" He tipped his helmet at her in a semblance of a respectful nod and opened the tent flap to leave. As it happened – against all odds – Bucky happened to be marching past at that _exact_ moment and spotted her.

Alice could feel the laser-focus that honed in on her face as he stopped in his tracks, turned, and stalked toward the tent. The flap fell between the two of them as her doctor exited and Alice scrambled to get off the table – _should I hide?_ she thought suddenly. _I think I should probably hide._

She didn't have the time for a third thought before Bucky nearly ripped the flap off the tent as he entered, throwing the canvas to one side. "Oh, hey Bucky," she laughed nervously. "How's it going? Have a successful mission? Anything interesting happen?" Alice was visibly sweating – some from the exertion of the day taking its toll, some from the look on Bucky's face.

His hair was about ready to catch fire from the undiluted fury in his eyes. "Of all the irresponsible, bull-headed, _idiotic_ things you could have done, I think this takes the cake! This takes the cake and throws it out the window! I had my hand inside your _chest_ yesterday! You were in no shape at all to be standing, let alone riding your crazy war-horse into a firefight!"

"Bucky, I-" Alice tried to explain, all while realizing she didn't have a plausible explanation ready.

He held up a hand to stop her. " _No!_ No – you're gonna stand here and listen to me for once!"

Alice snapped her mouth shut swiftly.

Bucky ran a hand nervously through his hair, grabbing it lightly in frustration. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? We thought you were gonna _die_ , Alice. Then you show up playing soldier – _again! Again,_ Alice!" He shook a finger at her. "You can't keep doing this! I – we've got to know that you've got our backs, but that you've got our backs _way back here_ where it's safe!"

Alice looked down at her shoes. He was right – while she knew that her actions were necessary, and that things would turn out a certain way, the men around her had no such comfort. She had been thinking so much about their physical health, that she had failed to consider the emotional anguish her apparent carelessness might cause.

She'd also been entirely focused on her mission - something she couldn't explain away - but had given no consideration towards completing it in secrecy or with subtlety.

"Hey!" Bucky barked to get her attention. "Look at me when I'm yelling at you!" Alice dutifully looked back up at his furious face. "Because more than _all_ of that," Bucky gesticulated wildly, and Alice braced herself for the worst. She was ready for his to continue yelling – she absolutely deserved it.

Instead, he took a sharp breath and the tension sort of fell away from his shoulders. He breathed his next words with awe. "You were _amazing_."

Alice's brain threw a gear. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've never… I don't even know how to describe it." His voice was gentle, like he had lost all of his rage in that last moment. He moved closer, reaching out a hand to touch her arm tenderly. "How are you even standing right now?"

"I'm… I'm a fast healer," Alice mumbled lamely. She didn't have an explanation that would make sense to her _or_ Bucky, but her brain was having trouble focusing anyway as Bucky's face was very close to hers.

"That's good," Bucky murmured. His eyes moved lazily over her face and he brushed hair out of her face to tuck it behind her ear. "Alice…" he trailed off, seemingly losing a breath in the process. Alice lost her breath as well – or was she holding it in anticipation?

Bucky cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. "Alice…" he whispered her name.

"Bucky?" Alice's quiet voice struggled to cross the distance between them.

Bucky's face was no more than a breath away from hers. "When I saw you… thank God you're not dead." Alice could hear the tremor in his voice and believed with all her heart he was truly thanking God. She was close enough to see the micro-expressions in his face; the fear, longing, and unmistakable desire.

Alice lost track of those emotions as Bucky tilted her face upwards to kiss her.

* * *

Bucky had kissed a lot of girls. When he was a younger man he had always imagined that a dame should taste sweet, like chocolate or strawberry sugar. He had imagined that their lips would be as soft as flower petals. Most of the girls he kissed had tasted like lipstick or coffee with carefully made faces and perfect hair oils whose scents could overwhelm the senses. While that was a little disappointing for his boyhood expectations he had still enjoyed it.

Kissing Alice, like everything he had come to know about the little nurse, was nothing like what he had come to expect from kissing a dame. It wasn't a bad thing – like finding out that while you had expected a carousel to feel like riding a horse, it actually felt so much more like flying. And kissing Alice felt so much like flying.

Alice tasted like raw mint leaves, and while her lips should have been chapped for all the time she spent chewing on them, they were as soft as the fresh flower petals of his boyhood imaginings. Having drawn himself close to her he could breathe in the scent of her; the funny clover-like aroma of her soapwort wash, and the light tang of sweat.

The kisses started off tender and exploratory with a hesitation reserved for the newest of steadies. The kisses didn't stay that way for long as she began to kiss him with the same near-desperate longing that he had to offer. Alice's cool hands found his face, holding him as he held her in return, pulling him lower so she could nuzzle his nose with hers as she experimented with the angles of his mouth.

He could feel her smiling as he kissed her but couldn't bring himself stop long enough to ask why, though he probably could have guessed. Was he smiling, too? He couldn't remember what he had been angry about; he only existed between her cool hands, pressed against her mouth, trying to drown in the essence of _Alice_.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist to close what little space remained between them and she cried out in pain against his mouth.

Bucky's head jerked back and he instantly let go, taking a quick step backward.

Alice had a hand pressed against her side. "Sorry," she winced apologetically. "Not healed all the way quite yet."

Of course she wasn't - he'd had a hand against her _lung_ just yesterday. "Sorry." The source of his fear and anger started to crawl towards the forefront of his thoughts again.

Alice waved off the apology with her free hand. "No – it's my fault."

She was still wearing her blood-stained shirt that had half a side gaping open, showing the new, taped gauze against her side. She had a horrible mottled purple-green color on the skin he could see of her side from the traumatic blunt force of the bullet.

He could taste the bitter acid of fear in his mouth, brought forth from her cry of pain after having been only just set aside in relief. "You're not coming with us anymore." He said it before he could lose his nerve. He had to remember that it was to keep her safe - out of Leavenworth, out of the grave.

"Excuse me?" she asked, in that way that said _I heard you, but you'd better be joking._

"You're being transferred back to the 130th Field Hospital." The confidence in his voice was alone - he didn't feel certain on the inside.

She shifted in place, moving her weight to her healthy side. "And you didn't think to talk to _me_ about this because…?"

"Because you broke the law, Alice." How could she not see? It shouldn't have been the Commandos figuring out what she had done wrong - Alice should have had it drilled into her over and over again during training. "Medics can't shoot first - it's a violation of the Geneva Convention."

Alice looked confused, mouth opening and closing a few times as she tried to process it. "Well…" she stopped, frowning deeply. "What if I stopped wearing the medic's cross - just another Howling Commando; problem solved."

The idea of Alice being _regularly_ shot at nearly took Bucky out at the knees. "You're not a soldier, Alice."

She crossed her arms, seemed to regret it, and put her hands on her hips instead. "Well… why not? It's not a problem if I'm not a nurse, right?"

His brain rebelled at the thought. "Women don't belong out here." The Army didn't put women on the front lines for a reason.

Alice took immediate offense. "Oh, I don't belong here?"

Had she somehow forgotten what had happened when she strayed towards combat? "You got _shot_!" Bucky reminded her.

She laughed - a short, nervous bark. "And I'm fine! I'm always fine!"

Her dismissal of reality incensed Bucky. It was a blind ignorance of danger, and brazenly throwing the concerns of her friends back in their faces. _"I'm not having you end up like Gloria!"_ Bucky roared.

Alice took a step back, visibly appalled. Bucky collected himself. "And… and we won't let you go to jail. The way you are… we don't have a place for you anymore." He shrugged. "Jeeps are all full."

Alice seemed to miss the point entirely, just focusing on the last bit. "You know I have a horse, and I can just follow you, right?"

"Alice, if I catch you following us I will s _hoot_ that damn horse!" Bucky threatened. It was an empty threat, but she was just so damn frustrating - how could she even think about trying to be a soldier? She just plucked at the thread of fear that ran through his heart over and over again. But the damage was real, even if his intent was not. Alice recoiled sharply. "Wait…" Bucky tried to backpedal. "I didn't mean that, Alice-"

"Don't you fucking talk to me ever again," she hissed venomously, her chin tucked defensively. She strode past him without letting him try to fix his mistake, pushing out of the tent.

He wasn't familiar with her brutal ire; more with her gentle irritation. He much preferred Alice when she looked like Springtime, with flower pollen on her nose lazy lights of late afternoon warming her cheeks.

This was Alice of the Winter, with her cutting tone and vicious spite. He deserved the cutting chill of her anger; to only see the Lieutenant, not Alice. He couldn't regret it, though. He couldn't imagine losing her; no matter the form.

At the 130th she would remember how to be a nurse - just a nurse. She would get sleep again and have a proper place to lay her head. She would be free of the threat of bullets and courts-martial. Alice could continue being his lighthouse on the shore, even if shore was just a little further away.

Dawn broke over the camp, spilling over Alice's hair and highlighting the glittering gold streaks and setting off the fire in her eyes as she glanced back for just a moment. She tucked her lip and whistled for Grani as she looked at Bucky, clearly calling the horse just out of spite.

The horse blocked his view of the nurse as he trotted to greet her, nose nudging her shoulder for attention. Bucky got one last glimpse of blonde hair, one last turn of a defiant cheek, and one last flash of cinnamon fire before Alice was gone.

* * *

A/N: was it worth the wait, dear readers? It only took … 33 chapters? I'm keeping this author's note short just to let you bask in all that drama. See you next chapter!

I LOVE MY REVIEWERS: SabakuNoGaara426, Sanguinary Tide, AquaBluey, PistolHattersButtercup, TikiKiki, Guest, and Ravyn Moon 1313!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	34. The USS LST-6

Dum Dum should have known that Barnes would fuck it up. He tried to eavesdrop through the canvas from a respectable distance; while the words themselves didn't reach his ears, the angry tones certainly did. With little warning, Alice burst from the mess tent and whistled for her war horse, glancing only very briefly back before following the growing convoy leaving the decimated camp site in the growing light of dawn.

Dugan looked at Alice's swiftly retreating back, then swung around to look at Bucky, exiting the mess tent at a more sedate pace. "You're shit at this."

"I'll fix it," Barnes shot back.

"You don't have to fix something you didn't break. What did you say? Wait-" he held up a hand. "Better I don't know; your stupid might be contagious."

"You think you can do better?" Barnes tried to defend himself.

"Oh, I know I can," Dum Dum said easily.

"Prove it," Barnes demanded.

Dum Dum slapped his hands, clearing a little dust from his gloves. "Name your stakes."

Barnes seemed off-put by Dum Dum's readiness to accept. "Loser carries the radio through the Alps for recon of the tracks."

"Done," Dum Dum agreed, holding out a hand to shake. "Proof?" he asked.

Barnes' eyes followed Alice's ghost. "She won't help you with anything if she's mad at you."

Dum Dum took off his hat, tucking it under his arm. With a swift yank, he popped the stitching on his rank patch. It flopped sadly to one side. "Good enough?" he asked, holding up the hat. "If it's fixed, she's not mad."

"Agreed," Bucky confirmed, taking Dum Dum's hand in a gentleman's agreement.

Dum Dum would have gone to talk to Alice regardless of Barnes' stakes. She was clearly upset and Dum Dum didn't like leaving her like that. It would be damn satisfying to watch Barnes carry the heavy radio up and down the Swiss Alps by himself, like some karmic punishment for turning against Alice.

 _He's not really against Alice_ , he self-corrected as he jogged to catch up with Alice, _he's just got a funny way of taking care of his stuff._ He shouldn't have been as bristly about Bucky's decision, but it had taken _so damn much_ work to get them to stick to each other it was frustrating to watch them walk away.

Alice's decisions had paved that road. He wanted to shake her, yell like Bucky had, and ask her what insanity had overcome her to bring her to the conclusion that she could play soldier and not face consequences. It wouldn't do anyone any good, though, and he imagined Bucky had done a fairly good job at laying out their general disappointment in her actions, no matter how necessary they had been.

He called out to the nurse as he got within earshot. "Hey L.T., you got a minute?" Her head shot up with a blazing fury in her eyes, and Dugan instantly held up both hands in surrender. "Hey now, don't shoot."

Alice clutched at the horse's reins like she might fall over soon. "If you're coming to speak for that… that _cracked egg_ , I won't hear it."

Dugan was definitely not there to be Bucky's ambassador. "No such thing, promise. I just thought you might like a leg up and over old Ironsides here - it's quite a ways up and I seem to remember you've got a clipped wing. "

Alice eyed him suspiciously. "I'd appreciate that." She was easy to boost up and into her seat, though her balance seemed precarious without a saddle. She took a sharp breath, pressing a hand to her side and making a weird face.

"You with me, L.T.?" he asked, resting a hand on her calf in case she started to sway.

"Just uncomfortable." She took another breath; it seemed fuller than before. "Though I suppose that's to be expected." Her hand pressed lightly against her side, with her fingers moving gently against the torn fabric there.

Dum Dum hadn't been the man administering care, and while he would have bet good money on Alice surviving out of spite alone, there would have been no money at all for her being in as good condition as she was at that moment. The color had returned to her skin and the ashy gray of death had been cast away.

"He's forcing me to leave," Alice said softly, still looking ahead.

"You know why you have to?" Dugan asked.

Alice nodded. "I broke a law and abused my privilege." She said it so robotically, like it hadn't quite processed yet. "He didn't even let me try…"

"Try what?"

Her face was determined. "I said I could be a Commando."

Dum Dum laughed loudly. "L.T., that's just not you."

Alice did not look pleased. "How do you know that? You don't know anything about me," she said bitterly.

"Yeah, well, who really knows a lady's secrets?" he asked rhetorically. "I know you're a good person, and you don't like watching men hurt. There's a lot of hurt where we go, L.T."

"Bucky said I don't belong here. That there's no place for me with… with all of you." Fury crossed her face when Dugan had been expecting tears. "He's just so – so – _aaarrrrrgh!"_ She clenched her hands in a strangling motion. "You know?"

Dugan leaned away from her slightly as he released her calf, his eyes wide with concern. "Can't say I've felt that particular set of emotions before, no."

"Dum Dum," Alice fixed him with a serious stare. "If I told you that I knew – I _knew_ – that I wouldn't be hurt with the Commandos, would you believe me?"

He spoke slowly. "No – because I saw you get shot. I was there. It wasn't pretty."

"Not like that," Alice waved a hand and he was worried for a moment she might let go of the horse's leader entirely and fall right off. "I mean I won't die."

Her words didn't make any sense – men could be cocky about their chances of getting shot but didn't usually declare they could avoid death entirely. "Alice, I know they call you a Witch or an Angel out here, but do you have something you're trying to tell me?"

Alice chewed on her lower lip. "No."

"Then maybe – don't knock me out, just listen – maybe he's got something rattling around in his head that's worth a cent or two?" Far be it for him to defend Barnes over Alice, but the very base of his argument had some merit.

"I'm still mad at him," she insisted.

There would be no getting around that fact, not with Alice's temperament. "As is your right as a Lady."

She grinned. "Damn right it is." The grin morphed into something sad. "I'm going to miss you."

Dugan tried to comfort her without making it sound patronizing – something Barnes had clearly forgotten to do. "The 130th isn't so bad - I'll make sure we swing by after we blow up this Hydra place."

"Promise?" Alice asked.

How could he not? "Course I do, L.T., and I'm sure you and Barnes will kiss and make up around the same time."

"I'm not so sure about that," Alice grumbled. She glanced at him, looking for reassurance but a puzzled expression crossed her face. "What happened there?" Alice pointed.

He touched the hat briefly, having forgotten the flap was loose. "Oh - clipped it on a door."

"Would you like me to sew it up for you? It'll only take a minute; I know how you love that hat." Alice already had her hand out, expectant that he would provide it.

A broad smile spread across Dum Dum's face. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd be much obliged."

Alice produced a needle and suture thread from her pack, sewing the patch on in under a minute. Her body rocked slightly from side to side as Grani followed the trucks down the road at their sedate pace. Dum Dum glanced at her occasionally; he felt pride in the lack of tension in her shoulders and the smooth surface between her eyebrows that so usually rippled into a frown.

She tossed him the cap from her high seat on the horse, wisely not leaning down to hand it to him. "How do I look?" he asked, trying for a roguish grin knowing that it would make Alice smile.

"Is that a question you really want me to answer honestly?" Her wry smile felt like the best reward. Bucky's future struggle to carry the radio up and down the Swiss Alps would just be the cherry on top.

* * *

 **November 14, 1944**

The 130th Field Hospital took Alice back with open arms, even if those arms came laden with paperwork. She spent the entirety of the first day reviewing her new orders, checking charts, and trying not to think about the Howling Commandos. Rather, she _should_ have spent much of the day reviewing charts, but she was interrupted a few hours in by the wailing, enthusiastic greeting of two old friends. In an unexpected turn of events, it was Joanna that made the wailing, wet-faced dramatic entrance with Ingrid following in a steadfast manner.

"It's hard to imagine it without her. I keep thinking she's just going to come over with coffee one morning, and then she doesn't," Alice mused, leaning on one elbow to prop herself up on her cot.

The three ladies had collected in the nurses' tent, enjoying a cup of hot cocoa courtesy of the hospital's cook. Alice had been pleased to see a few familiar faces from the 111th, but Cookie behind the massive steel preparation tables had been the greatest delight. He'd offered no words of comfort or splendid greeting, only three hot cups of cocoa.

"She was the best of us," Joanna said, holding her cup close to her chest.

"The good ones never live," Ingrid added bitterly.

Alice tapped the tin with her fingernail thoughtfully. "She helped a lot of people; you've got to hope it was good for something."

There came a knock on the tent post. "Lieutenant Shaw?"

"That's me," Alice replied as a soldier entered.

He thrust a sheet of yellow telegram paper forward, seemingly uncomfortable being outnumbered by pretty women. "Orders, ma'am."

"There must be a mistake – I already have my orders." Alice accepted the paper anyway, skimming the short instructions. "Oh," she murmured. "I see. Thank you."

"Yes ma'am," he tipped his hat to the three ladies and left in a hurry.

"What's it say?" Joanna asked.

 _REPORT TO COMMAND FOR DEBRIEF_

 _PASSAGE GUARANTEED ON USS LST SIX FOR SEVENTEEN NOVEMBER FROM ROUEN_

 _REPORT TO CAPTAIN BENJAMIN FRANKLIN_

"Hell, that's just a few days from now – if I don't get going I'll miss it." Alice sighed, flapping the paper in one hand. "That's what I get for being fired, I guess."

"You headed out for some R&R, honey?" Ingrid asked as Alice stuffed clothes into her rucksack that she had only just pulled out some hours before.

"I wish – maybe I'll see a bridge or two when the cabs roll over it. I should be back next week. Mind the plantain leaves, would you? I left them drying over there." Alice snapped her fingers. "Take Grani around for a trot or two, too? He's gonna get fat if I don't keep him working."

Joanna laughed at that. "Have some good Thanksgiving food for me, will you? And hurry back! You're leaving us with all the work _again_ , the least you can do is be quick about it."

Alice shook her head. "Can't believe it's next week. Who knows – maybe I'll be able to smuggle some turkey back with me?"

"Do they even eat turkey over here?" Ingrid asked, twirling a pencil in her fingers.

Joanna was thoughtful. "You know… I don't imagine they do. It's an American bird, isn't it?"

"Love you both," Alice kissed their cheeks. "Be good."

"No promises!" they replied in unison.

Alice shook her head as she shouldered her bag, ducking out of the tent and flagging down an outgoing truck. "You headed for France?" she asked the driver.

"Yes ma'am; hop in," he instructed. Alice threw her bag into the bed and clambered in after it, accepting a helping hand offered by more than a few smiling men. "Hold on! The road gets a bit bumpy," the driver called back to her as he changed gears.

* * *

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* * *

 **November 17, 1944**

* * *

 _._

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* * *

 **November 26, 1944**

"It's fucking freezing up here," Morita shuddered, burying his hands in his pockets to ward off the chill. The descent through the Alps seemed harsher every week as the Commandos surveilled Hydra's train route, mapping out the ideal window to capture Zola. The had to be careful about being seen; they'd get one chance to jump that train when it eventually rolled by, and missing it meant they might not get another chance.

"Language," Steve reminded.

Bucky rolled his eyes. The stalwart _Captain America_ could sometimes be an entirely different creature from his friend from Brooklyn. Sure, command meant ensuring a certain amount of dignity and reasonable respectability with the Howling Commandos, but it was verging on a comedy by then. Bucky knew full well that Steve could swear a blue streak when he wasn't in uniform.

"Pardon me; it's _ball-chillingly_ freezing up here," Morita corrected. Steve chuckled at that – it wasn't technically swearing.

"We'll be back at camp soon and we'll get some coffee," Steve reassured them.

An unwelcome thought drifted through Bucky's head; _if Alice was waiting, she'd have something to warm us up in a jiffy just waiting at a rolling boil._ She'd make all of them change their socks, check temperatures with a worried frown, and make them promise to eat all of whatever potion she'd made. It would work spectacularly, of course, and they'd all give her some sort of grief about babying them too much. _Of course_ , would be the reply, _you're my boys._

She was missed. The Commandos hadn't talked about it – there was no way to bring it up and no way to avoid it – but their resolve remained the same. Bucky wanted to write her a letter, to try and better explain the reasoning now that all tempers had cooled, but just didn't know how to get his thoughts down on paper.

Some of the letters started as _dear Alice_ , and others simply as _Doll,_ before trailing off into a series of apologies of decreasing quality. It was missing something sincere; he wasn't sorry about sending her away for her safety and freedom so he needed some other form of apology that didn't actually involve apologizing. He had a footlocker full of rejected attempts, hidden from the prying eyes of his brothers-in-arms lest he face a never-ending shit-storm of teasing.

Inspiration came in the form of a shrubby-looking plant on the side of the trail, bearing an early winter harvest. Bucky stopped along the trail, spotting the red-orange berries peeking from underneath a light dusting of snow. "Hey – anyone know if these are poisonous?" It was a little gesture, but something familiar.

Falsworth glanced over. "Rowan berries? Only if you eat a fair number of them – why?"

"I'm not planning on eating them." Bucky tugged a handful free of the bush. "Got a bag or something?"

Dum Dum produced an empty tobacco tin and Bucky dropped the berries into the tin. "Morita – am I close to the right color?" Bucky asked, tilting it in his direction.

Morita leaned over to look in the jar. "Not that close – they're too red."

Dum Dum sighed. "Jesus Christ, man – how much orange crap are you gonna collect?"

" _C'est pour sa dame_ ," Dernier hissed in a stage-whisper.

" _Va te faire foutre_ ," Bucky shot back, slamming down the lid on the tobacco tin. "It's for Alice."

Jones laughed. "How is that different?"

Morita shook his head in exasperation. "I've told you a hundred times – just buy some marigolds next time we get R they're basically the same color."

"Nah," murmured Bucky, "then it would be over."

"She's going to realize what you're playing at soon enough, my friend," Falsworth chuckled.

"Who's to say she's not playing along?" Steve interjected.

"Look at mister knows-it-all-about-girls over here," Bucky jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Tell us, Steve – when's _your_ date again?"

Dugan guffawed. "Oh – did I miss the part where Alice decided to start talking to you again?"

Bucky looked offended. "Hey, this is me saying sorry."

"Looks like a tin of berries she can't eat to me." Dugan shrugged. "Not much of a sorry for kicking her out of the Commandos; especially since it's just about the weirdest thing you can get in the mail. You sure she'll get the message?"

"She'll get it," Bucky clenched the tin tightly. She had to understand eventually – right?

Dugan nodded sagely. "You should try stabbing yourself in the leg so she _has_ to see you – she'd like that."

Bucky paused. "You really think that would work?"

Morita rolled his eyes. "No – he doesn't." Dugan guffawed loudly.

"He wouldn't get far if he did – the new nurses are coming today, aren't they? No secret trips to the 130th when you can get good care right across the camp."

"I don't know about that – Bucky figured out how to get up a fire escape without a sound to see a girl, once. I'm pretty sure he could wrangle a transfer if he really wanted one." Steve nodded to the guard as they passed into camp, and his attention was caught by a man jogging towards them.

"Message for you, Captain." The private looked concerned, holding the sheet of yellow paper in both white-knuckled hands.

He accepted the paper, though it nearly shook as the younger man's hands were shaking so badly. "Thank you, son."

"Getting fan mail at camp now?" Bucky teased.

Steve read the short message a few times over. "I… I need to go radio headquarters." He excused himself, breaking off towards the Signals tent. Bucky shrugged off the odd behavior – after taking down the last known factory, Steve was under a lot of pressure to track down Zola in an attempt to isolate the final base.

"Don't take too long; Dugan's not known for leaving portions behind," Morita joked.

"I've got to maintain my girlish figure," Dugan defended, clapping his stomach with one hand.

"Yeah – I think you've got enough for a couple of girls in that figure," Bucky poked his gut.

"There's more than a couple of girls that _like_ my figure," Dugan shot back, elbowing Bucky out of the way to get his coffee first.

"Oh, are they here? I'd love to meet them," Bucky looked around with interest, Jones and Morita laughed loudly while Falsworth chuckled lightly.

They had just all managed to get a cup of mud, settling down in the warm mess tent to fight off the violent winter chill when the private that had brought Steve his message came calling for Dugan.

"Sir," he said hesitantly, "Captain's asking for you."

"Now?" Dugan clarified. "Can't you see I just got warm?"

"I'm sorry, Sir; he said it was urgent." And it sure looked urgent from the look on his face. He was almost sweating and looked a little gray around the edges.

"It better be," Dugan groaned as he stood, flexing his back in a twist before following the anxious messenger. "It's too damn cold for it to be anything less than deadly serious."

"Dum Dum!" Bucky called after him, "you forgot your coffee!"

"Hell, he won't miss it," Jones said, reaching for the abandoned tin.

"He's an old man – he'll want it," Bucky replied, tugging the tin out of Jones's reach.

"You're too loyal, Buck; give in for once," Morita encouraged as Bucky tugged his boots back on. The soles felt a little on the damp side, but he wasn't going far.

"Would you say that if it was your coffee?" Bucky asked, standing with his and Dugan's cups in his hands.

"I'd say 'bring me that coffee or die trying'," was the immediate response.

"Exactly," Bucky agreed, nodding to excuse himself.

The snow wasn't falling as heavily now, giving Bucky hope that they wouldn't have to wait more than a month or so before the train would start running through the Alps again. They'd have something to _do_ again, aside from just surveillance in the bitter cold.

The Signal tent was mostly abandoned, save for a nervous Specialist standing outside, shivering a little in the cold. Bucky nodded in greeting but breezed past him, elbowing the canvas open to enter the tent. Steve was speaking in a low voice with Dum Dum, whose face was turned away from Bucky. His head was shaking slightly from side to side.

"Hey – you forgot your coffee," Bucky called. Dugan looked back at him, his expression somewhere between sorrow and pity. "What's going on?" Bucky asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Steve and Dugan shared a look, and Dugan left the tent without a word. "Bucky… you should sit down," Steve gestured to a chair.

Bucky didn't move. He didn't like the look on Steve's face. "What's going on?" he repeated.

"Sit down," Steve said again.

Bucky sat, both hands still occupied with coffee.

Steve took a breath. "When Alice was transferred back to the Field Hospital… it's standard procedure that she was called back to command in London for a debriefing before the transfer could be finalized."

That wasn't news – any soldier moving from the covert unit back to regular duty needed to be debriefed. "Yeah, I knew that. They're not giving her a hard time, are they?"

Steve continued. "Alice was guaranteed passage on the USS LST-6, crossing the English Channel after supply movement from Portland to Rouen. It struck a mine in the English Channel and sank."

Bucky's expression morphed slowly from confusion to disbelief. "No. Those things are floating tanks – no way."

Steve continued, his voice robotic despite his friend's distress. "The USS LST-6 struck a mine and sank in six fathoms of water, losing three hands during the explosion including one First Lieutenant Alice Shaw on board for transport to London."

"If this is supposed to be a joke, it's not funny." Bucky could feel his heart beating double-time in his chest.

Steve held out a thin piece of yellow telegram paper. "Peggy sent the message while we were on the mission. I radioed to confirm. I'm so sorry, Buck."

Bucky had to set down the coffees to take the telegram paper. The edges were slightly wavy already, as though it had been handled multiple times.

 _USS-LST-6 MINED IN ENGLISH CHANNEL RETURNING FROM ROUEN_

 _THREE HANDS LOST_

 _TO INCLUDE LT ALICE SHAW KIA BNR_

Bucky looked at the telegram. He read the message a few times. He ran his fingers over the edges, and his shoulders started to shake. His eyes sparkled a little in the light as he glanced up at Steve. Bucky laughed, waving the telegram with a snap.

"This is a really good one! I get it – she's trying to get back at me for that bit about her horse! She's here, isn't she? Snuck back on some jeep, just waiting to see how her little joke played out?" He stood, turned, and yelled out of the tent to no one. "You can't fool me, Shaw – BNR; there's no way a six-fathom sink would be Body Not Recovered!"

Steve grabbed him by the shoulders, jerking him to turn and face him again. "Bucky – Alice Shaw died nine days ago. Her body wasn't recovered because a German mine exploded against the hull two feet from where she was sitting."

Bucky wouldn't look at Steve, he was shaking his head. "They didn't find her body, Steve. They didn't-"

"They found her tags, Buck," Steve insisted. "They found her dog tags, and her gear."

He couldn't bring himself to say the rest. _There wasn't enough left of her in one piece to qualify as a body._

"Leggo'a'me!" Bucky rushed the words together, fighting against Steve's iron grip. Steve released him, and Bucky fled from the tent, only to stop short once he reached sunshine. He was stopped short at the sight of the Howling Commandos' new nurses arriving at camp. Whatever doubt he had evaporated like the final breath of the last candle being snuffed out in the dark.

They nurses were instantly recognizable, but from the expressions they shared as a pair they were not receiving the attention usually afforded two pretty women arriving into the company of a whole host of men. The stepped off the truck as though arriving at a funeral, and a defiant horse kicked at the side in protest to being tied along at the back.

Joanna had adopted a stern look that was painted across her entire body as she helped the second, smaller nurse down from the truck. Ingrid looked mostly at the ground, her face watery and trembling. She shushed Grani as she detached his leaders from the back of the truck, patting his nose like Alice should have been doing.

But no Alice.

Ingrid pulled on the leaders, tugging Grani away from nearly biting a soldier who had come to inspect the horse. She caught sight of Bucky and her progress stopped entirely.

Her face was puffy and red from crying, and her lower lip trembled a bit as she made eye contact with Bucky. She sniffed once, and lifted her head to regain her composure, nodding once to Bucky. She took a sharp left, and the large War Horse followed curiously.

Joanna found him as well but her expression was the other side of the coin; stern fury. She was full of rage with no place to direct it, leaving it to coil deeper and deeper into her stomach.

Bucky stood in front of the tent, Steve a few steps behind him. His gaze stayed fixed on the muddy hoof prints left behind by the large War Horse.

No Alice.

"She missed Thanksgiving," he said quietly to himself, his brow scrunching. "Gonna miss Christmas, too."

Bucky pulled the tobacco tin from his pocket, its contents rattling gently. He threw it as hard as he could at the nearest tree and it burst open, spilling orange-red Rowan berries out in the snow. He sat down heavily on the ground, his head falling into his hands.

Steve knelt beside him, settling one heavy hand on his friend's shoulder for comfort. He couldn't feel the air moving in his chest; there wasn't air moving in his chest. Everything in his body was hot and sharp and fighting against his brain.

 _Breathe_ , a light voice commanded in his head.

Alice.

A shaky, bitter, desperate laugh broke through his chest; a heaving gasp of air followed it.

* * *

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* * *

 **Epilogue**

 **Washington D.C., May 2014**

A quiet Friday afternoon found Steve Rogers taking a tour through history. It didn't feel like history in the same way that it was presented to the public, but only a few years past. The Air and Space Museum hosted a popular exhibit with a title that made Steve cringe.

 **Captain America: The Living Legend and Symbol of Courage**

It was uncomfortable to walk past a huge mural of his own face, and see other comparing themselves to his frame, both pre- and post-serum. He wished that, instead of glorifying his size or his muscles, someone had added a reminder that he was chosen for his character.

A young boy in a shirt emblazoned with his symbol gaped up at Steve. He grinned slightly, pressing a finger to his mouth to ask for his silence.

The boy nodded mutely, still in awe.

The exhibit was respectful, but oddly glorifying. It left out the nights so cold you nearly lost a foot, and the summers so sweltering there was no stream cold enough to chill you. It left out the endless stake-outs, the terrifying process of making decisions that determined the lives of his men, and the bottomless pit of grief whose water lapped at his feet.

Instead, there was an Altar to Glory – replicas of the Commandos' tactical gear presented in a glowing light. A disembodied voice reminded visitors of their victories and said nothing of their failures.

He looked around, trying to find some point of reference in the overwhelming nature of the exhibit. He was drawn to a large photo of Bucky, etched in glass. **A fallen Comrade** , it read. They'd managed to trim his entire life down to two short paragraphs, and a short loop of film.

Steve's eyes lost focus briefly, and through the glass of Bucky's sign, he could see another familiar face. This face… he hadn't been expecting to see again. Alice Shaw looked out over the exhibit from the bed of a truck, the forlorn expression on her face matching Bucky's quite well.

 **The Angel of Azzano; History's Lost Howling Commando**

 **Named for her heroism in preserving the life of Austria's Prisoners of War, First Lieutenant Alice Shaw joined the Howling Commandos as a dedicated nurse in the winter of 1943. She was killed in action during a routine crossing of the English Channel on the USS LST-6 while reporting to the headquarters of the Strategic Scientific Reserve.**

 **Lieutenant Shaw has been credited with saving the lives of more than seven hundred men from June of 1943 to November of 1944. If the duplicates from the Howling Commandos were counted individually, the count would be well over a thousand. For her service, Lieutenant Shaw was posthumously awarded the Silver Star. As she had no living relatives, the Star is preserved by the US Army but was generously loaned, along with her journal, to the Air and Space Museum.**

The journal was displayed in a humidity and temperature-controlled box. It was heavily water-damaged but still legible; it was open to her last entry: _October 31, 1944 - Cpt. Steve Rogers._ A chuff of laughter stirred in his chest. Of course she'd include that – almost like a final act of defiance.

Steve couldn't fathom how the museum had drawn a line from Alice to Bucky, but it was clear that someone had managed to do so in the subtlest fashion. After all, the exhibit was supposed to be about Steve and his deeds – to his chagrin – and not about the… the humanity. The Commandos weren't allowed to be human. They were supposed to be Legends.

He wasn't sure how to say goodbye to his friends. He'd seen the files, almost all marked deceased save one. Alice didn't even have a file with the commandos, having been killed before the whole affair got thoroughly mummified in red tape. Steve wondered how the museum had even found out about her.

He wasn't sure how to say goodbye to Bucky. Thinking about Bucky and all of his friends, frozen in time and held up to this unreachable pedestal of Glory... it made the memories he had of them feel like he'd made them up. Maybe the Smithsonian was the one making up memories. Wouldn't it just be a gas if his memories were the twisted part – somehow warped by his time frozen in ice?

He worked his way back through the exhibit, from Peggy's interview back to Alice, followed Alice's forlorn gaze to Bucky, and from Bucky to the Commandos. His friends would be here when he was ready to say goodbye. For the moment, he would leave Bucky and the Commandos under Alice's watchful eye.

The crowd of visitors might be passing her by in droves, but Alice would watch over them. Even now, he could trust her to do that for him.

Steve flipped open his compass, taking a moment to find stability in Peggy's face. He had one living link to the past left in his life.

It was time to pay her a visit.

* * *

End of Line.

* * *

A/N:

I did a lot of things that are very unique in terms of time-traveling or in-the-past CA stories; from everything I've read I've never seen a story where the OC leaves the story before either Bucky's Fall or Cap becomes Capsicle. This was a hard choice for me but I also felt it to be very original; the more I explored the idea, the more I realized I had to do it this way. Every one of you was expecting something different as an ending and I hope I managed to make it surprising for you.

Much of this chapter may feel unsatisfying, or even like it was cut abruptly short; this was intentional. For Alice, as much as for the other commandos, this timeline was cut short without warning. It was the same for many soldiers that have died in almost any war. The end comes without warning, and the bill comes due.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for being a part of this story. I couldn't have done it without you! I encourage you, now knowing how everything turns out, to give Alice another full read-through and enjoy all of the foreshadowing, all the little hints at what's coming… there are a lot, friends.

 **Please leave me a final review** – tell me your thoughts, let me know what foreshadowing you found, what you only found on the second or third go-around, all of it! If you get through a couple of times, PM me and we can talk about all the foreshadowing in the story and see if you got it all!

Thank you again for joining me and Alice on our adventure through time.


	35. Sequel - Reaching in the Dark

Hello, dear readers!

It's come to my attention that I totally forgot to inform my original readers that Who is Alice Shaw? has a sequel! I always intended for WIAS to be followed by a continuation into the future/present time, but I wanted to give people a chance to enjoy WIAS for what it is, then come back if they felt like they still needed more. So - if you enjoy Alice exactly as she is, and enjoy torturing yourself with stories that definitely don't have a happy ending - STOP HERE.

If you still carry on with the hope that Buck and Alice might just get a happy ending, then pop on over to **Reaching in the Dark.** I'm happy to inform you that there are seven chapters waiting for you as I type this message.

Lastly, thank you all for being wonderful readers and reviewers of my works. It is a treasure and a privilege to be a part of this community.

Ad Astra,

 _Aria_


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